


Fidelity

by Biblio (Heyerchick)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 03:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 90,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heyerchick/pseuds/Biblio
Summary: Slash: 	Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.Rating: 	NC-17Category: 	Action/Adventure.  First Time.  Hurt/Comfort.  Romance.Season/Spoilers: 	Season 4.  Follows events in The Curse and Double Jeopardy.Synopsis: 	Daniel and Jack learn - and teach - difficult lessons in honesty and faithfulness.Warnings: 	Minor character death.  Violence.  Language.    Intense situations.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This story won Best Story, Best Drama and Best Hurt/Comfort in the Slash category of the 2001 Stargate SG-1 Fan Fiction Awards.

SAM

"Dr Jackson?  I have a mission for you," the general says a tad regretfully.

Typical.  The rest of SG-1 gets downtime, we finally get a chance to touch base with our elusive archaeologist and he's snatched away from us.  Yet again.

Or should I say snatched away from Colonel O'Neill?  The grin on the colonel's face is slowly congealing.

"Mission?" he asks, with that light yet cutting sarcastic inflexion only he can manage.

Two possible interpretations here.  The colonel could come off as disrespectful of Daniel's ability to handle tying his own shoelaces, or as deeply resentful of being deprived of the pleasure of Daniel's company yet again.  Daniel is stiffening a little, hearing the former.  I KNOW it's the latter, and unfortunately, the colonel thinks it's something else entirely.  SG-1 being deprived of it's fourth yet again, or some other comfortable rationalisation for getting this pissy this quickly.

"Dr Steven Rayner has approached the Egyptian authorities for permission to excavate the tomb of Osiris."

Daniel goes a little pale.  I shoot him a reassuring look and jump in, to give him a little breathing room.  "The NID cleared the tomb of incriminating technology, Sir. There's nothing for Dr Rayner to see."

"We're not sure of that," the general answers.  "The operation was of necessity a snatch and grab, given the circumstances.  We couldn't hide from the authorities that a man was viciously attacked in the tomb or that a woman disappeared.  The operation was severely time delineated. I can pull the strings that will prevent Dr Rayner from obtaining official permission to excavate, but there is nothing to stop him digging illicitly.  What's your opinion, Dr Jackson?"

Daniel sighs.  "I think that's entirely possible.  Steven -"

Ouch!  The colonel's eyes ice over.  'Steven' indeed!  Just how well do you know this 'Steven', Daniel?  Do you LIKE this 'Steven', Daniel?  Do I have to KILL this 'Steven' because you like him, Daniel?

Holy Hannah.

I can't let this go on much longer. It took me a long time to realise the colonel is in love.  Truly, madly, deeply in love. It costs me a small pain to admit it, but as deeply and profoundly as the colonel is in love, it hurts him even more excruciatingly to deny it.

" - was convinced my theories were a quixotic, wasteful fantasy for so long, his discovery of part of the truth -"

"Enough to know you were right all along!" I interject.

Daniel pauses and smiles at me.  God, he's adorable when he smiles like that, so much sweet mischief instead of his usual sweet gravity.  He's always so tentative when he smiles, as if he's either not sure of the reception he'll get or of the feelings that prompted it.  I'm never sure which, or maybe it's both.

I really have to say something to the colonel.  We changed the boundaries of our relationship forever when we flirted with - well, what wasn't meant to be.  It was simply a sign the colonel was reaching out, desperately seeking a connection with another human being.  While trying to deny the consuming, focused passion of his relationship with Daniel.

I think he passed over from loving Daniel to being in love with Daniel a long time ago.  In his soul he knows it, but he's so terrified of the strength of his feeling he can't bring himself to admit it, let alone act on it.  He's pushed Daniel so hard and so far in such a short space of time it snapped me right out of my cosy, infatuated glow with a vengeance.  I'm probably going to be squirming for months to come over my own motivations in letting my feelings get out of hand, but if I've hurt Daniel irreparably I will regret it to the day I die.

" - will prompt him to take direct action.  Steven is passionate in his beliefs - "

I care about the colonel, deeply, as much as I've cared for any friend in my life.  I care deeply for Teal'c.  We're comrades in arms, bound together by necessity at first, then by experience and now by choice.  I love Daniel, love him dearly.  He's as close to me as my own blood and I hate that I lost sight of that for some pathetic, insecure sense I was missing out.  If the other Sams had the colonel, why not me?  And yes, I know that's simplistic, doesn't begin to cover the tangle of emotions that got us into this mess.

I gave the colonel an out.  While he was chasing me and I permitted it, he was running away from himself and from Daniel, as hard as he could.  It took me a while to see it clearly, extrapolating from the little clues here and there.  I started backing off, conscious that pursuing any kind of relationship would do the team and my career no good.

Aw, come on, Sam.  It was staggeringly unprofessional and you let yourself down!  You let the colonel down, and more than anyone else, you've let Daniel down.  Suck it up and FIX it!

" - as forcefully as he believed I was wrong, I think he'll be determined to prove the opposite."

"For his own benefit," I snap.  Daniel gives me a reproachful look.  "I heard him, Daniel.  HE wanted the discovery."

Come on, Colonel!  Get with the program here!  I'll go with Daniel, happily, kick some major 'Steven' butt, but - ah, gotcha!  The colonel is looking at me searchingly.

Completely ignoring the all-too probable impact on Daniel's sensitive feelings if he had the least idea of what I'm up to, I take advantage of being in the colonel's direct line of sight and give him my all.  Slight upwards roll of the eyes, tightening of the lips.  See a threat you like, Sir?  Fanatic.  Hates Daniel with a passion, one borne of jealousy.  Got a damn Porsche for God's sake, and he still -

"Did he not attempt to convince the authorities of your culpability in the death of the museum curator?"

Way to go, Teal'c!

"Sirs, I'm not at all convinced that Dr Rayner would be anything other than eager to pursue his discovery and publish it to the world.  He's not out to vindicate Daniel, but to further his own career," I up the ante.

"At DanielJackson's expense," Teal'c finishes for me.  There's a slight edge to his voice that suggests to those in the know he'd like the opportunity to put 'Steven' right on a thing or three vis a vis his attitude to Daniel.

So we're overprotective.  Big deal!  He's DANIEL.

"I'd say this Rayner guy represents a significant risk to the security of this facility, General," the colonel says emphatically.  "We should check it out."

The general looks amused.  "I agree.  That's why I'm sending Dr Jackson to Egypt to survey the dig site for any evidence of Goa'uld activity or technology the NID boys may have missed, and to dissuade Dr Rayner from attempting to publish his 'discovery' to the world."

"Without evidence, his theory won't be believed by the academic community," Daniel says uncomfortably, not making eye contact.  "However, Steven's last book got him on the bestseller list.  He could do a lot of damage with an unsubstantiated theory in a very short space of time.  He has an audience."

"I'm not comfortable about Daniel going alone, Sir," the colonel states.  Or is that understates?

"Nor am I," Teal'c agrees.

The colonel turns to me.  Damn damn damn the man.  He's going to ask me.  Time to pull out the heavy artillery.  I head over to the computer.

"Carter, you're familiar with this -"

Punch up the Mission Report and display the photograph.  Of Dr Steven Rayner.  One little click and he's there on the big screen for any jealous colonel with eyes to see.

"Osiris business -"

Brown haired, brown eyed steaming hot, young hunk.

"But you're kinda busy with those experiments right now," the colonel smoothly recovers his near misstep.

A nasty, jealous, gorgeous young hunk all alone with HIS Daniel in that big, romantic desert?  Like that's gonna happen. I'm sorely tempted to ask which 'experiments' the colonel is specifically referring to, but that would just be mean.

"So I think I'd better go with Daniel.  Just in case."

"In case of what, Jack?  This is Steven!"  Daniel is disbelieving.

Hey.  The colonel's mind might not 'go there' yet but fortunately pure unadulterated Alpha Male jealousy and protectiveness kicks right in on schedule, like Old Faithful.  One hundred percent reliable compared to the poor old conscious mind.  The colonel's frustrated libido can see 'this is Steven' just fine, thanks, Daniel, my dear.

"In case we need to lean on him.  From a great height," the colonel says grimly, quite aware he's offended Daniel yet again but still utterly determined to have his way, bless him.

I feel compelled to add a little fuel to a very promising fire.  I look uncertain.  "If you're sure you don't mind, Sir, then I'll be glad to pass on Daniel's mission.  No offence, Daniel," I grin at him, letting him know I'm teasing, "but I've got a lot of work to do on those experiments the colonel mentioned and - well - I'd only be unskilled labour on a dig."

The general's face softens as I knew it would.  He's anxious to soothe Daniel's ruffled sensibilities and soften the blow of having the colonel inflicted on him so pointedly.  "I hope the colonel appreciates what he's letting himself in for, Dr Jackson.  I hear some members of SG-11 were three feet in the air BEFORE they asked how high they were supposed to jump," he says humorously.

Daniel flushes and treats us to that enchanting, mischievous smile again.  "Once you'd established that the 'guy in charge' on an excavation was the archaeologist, everything was - um - fine." He looks down at the tabletop for a moment, then twinkles up through his lashes.  "Just fine."

It's one of his most captivating mannerisms, and has a devastating impact on the susceptible.  In other words, just about anybody who knows Daniel.  It's particularly efficacious in the case of certain tough nut hardass Air Force colonels.

We all await the colonel's reaction with interest, except Daniel, who doesn't have a mean bone in his body.  The colonel wilfully edged himself out over a chasm and the only sound he hears in the room now is the sawing of the plank he's perched himself on.  Figuratively speaking.

The general allows himself the indulgence of a smirk at the colonel’s expense and looks down for a moment too.  "How are you with a shovel, colonel?"

"Jack won't be doing any digging," Daniel pipes up, gazing distractedly into the distance.  "There's actually no place for unskilled labour on an excavation.  Though this is a site survey, not a dig as such.  Any chance you can get me ground penetrating radar, General?  The site has been fairly well documented, but I'd like to be certain there are no additional chambers in the lower levels of the temple substructure."

"You want me to hold your flashlight?" the colonel drawls witheringly, unable to hide his annoyance.

Right after this.  I swear.  I'm tailing him to his office and I'm going to give him a heads up that should take his head clean off!

Daniel gives him a cursory look.  "Ahh - we use mirrors to illuminate chambers.  Less damaging than artificial light.  I'm sure you can makes yourself useful round the camp," he adds innocently, and somewhat uncertainly.

The colonel is alarmingly rigid.  Colonel Jack O'Neill, team leader of SG-1, saviour of the Earth, chosen ambassador of the Asgard and all round hero type has just been told he can do the dishes.  Or something.  Even Dad said the colonel was lots of fun to have around.  Unless he can shoot 'Steven', which is beginning to look more of a certainty than a remote possibility, from Daniel’s point of view there's not much else the colonel can contribute.  Except - maybe – laundry?

I wonder if Janet has anything for dishpan hands?

 

* * *

JACK

"What is it, Carter?"

She's pacing restlessly in front of my desk, looking nervous.  She stops suddenly, facing me, standing to attention.  Focused.  Determined.

"Sir, permission to speak freely on a personal matter?"

Aww, crap.  My instinct for danger rarely fails me.  I have to suppress a groan and wearily wave for her to continue.

"You may not like what I have to say, but I honestly believe it needs to be said," Carter tells me earnestly.

Crap indeed.  I SO don't want to get into this.  Christ, I don't even want to admit it happened.  I just want to put it behind me and move on.  I'm well aware that's completely frigging spineless of me so I guess it means I'm going to have to let her have her say just to prove I'm NOT completely frigging spineless.

"Spit it out."

Not the most tactful way to invite closure but shooting her dead with barely a moment's hesitation is pretty conclusive evidence I've put those 'joyous' feelings behind me.  Gotta rankle to find out that way.

"I've been aware of your feelings for some time. I wasn't sure or I would have spoken up sooner.  It wasn't any one thing."

"What?" What the hell is she talking about?  We kinda hashed our 'thing' out in full view of most of our nearest and dearest.   Except --

"Your feelings for Daniel, Sir," Carter says firmly.

"Carter - not that it's any of your business, you understand - but Daniel and I are getting along just fine.  We don't have a problem.  He's fine.  I'm fine.  It's fine."

"Begging your pardon, Sir, it's not fine.  You're not fine," Carter is quiet but determined.

"The team - "

"This isn't about the team.  It's about YOU.  You and Daniel."

"Don't fret just because his tolerance for beer and hockey has reached its natural limit," I say dryly. "He's retreated to the sanity of a good book on cultural iconography and the joys of the History Channel."

"He's retreated, yes," Carter agrees sadly.

I can't miss her disappointment.  "Carter, for God's sake, whatever is bothering you, get it off your chest.  Once only offer."

If she's pushing at all on this 'personal' matter it's important to her.  She's my 2IC so she's entitled to a little latitude.  It's ridiculous she thinks a little distance between Daniel and me is putting any kind of strain on the team.  We have our disagreements and move on.  Period.

"You're in love with Daniel,"  Carter says gently.

I literally jerk back in my chair from the impact of those words, jaw dropping in shock as my face burns.  I try, damn me, I do try, but I can't get a single word out in response.  Just sit there pilloried, mouth helplessly opening and closing, flushed and icy cold.

"You're hurting him because you can't face the truth, and I - I helped you do it.  I didn't know then, but I know now.  I helped you to push him back to a safe, contained distance.  Such a distance he's grateful for any attention you give him, and he doesn't question it too closely.  If you'd gone on as you were, he would have seen.  You would have said or done something that crossed the line.  I wish I could help you with this, Sir, I truly do, but I've crossed the line saying as much as I have.  If I didn't care - about you both - I wouldn't have taken such a risk.  I'm putting my faith in you, that you'll make it right between you somehow.  I don't ask anything for myself.  I contributed to this and I have to help to put it right."  Carter is desperately pale but resolute.

"The truth."  A woman I told I would rather die than lose her, who I care about far more than I'm supposed to, is standing here telling me I'm in love with Daniel Jackson.

Carter’s head bows for a moment before she looks me right in the eye. "I know how you feel about Daniel, Sir.  I don't have any idea how Daniel feels about you."

Carter's eyes are bright with sympathy and understanding. She asks for permission to go and I give it.  It's only after she's gone I realise I haven't denied it.  Haven't denied being in love with Daniel.

I guess I haven't got it in me to tell a lie like that twice.

I knew the truth when I was trapped on Edora.  Not at first.  I missed him, but I missed them all.  The pain softened with every day I stayed there, but not the pain for him.  He cut me like a knife, cut deeper with every day I was apart from him.  Twisted.  I burned for him.  I fucked Laira but it was his face I dreamed of, his body beneath mine.  Willing and wanting me.  Night after night I dreamed and burned, until it was too much. Wanting and not having was driving me mad.  I couldn't go on feeling that passion.  I shut it down and shut him out.  Tried to live the life I was buried in.

When they came through for me, I would have torn that gate out with my bare hands if I'd had to.  I thought of nothing and no one but him, and as soon as I laid eyes on him I knew it was impossible.  Mourning Sha'uri, impossibly fragile.  Lost.  I couldn't burden him with my all-consuming, raging need for him.

I was afraid.  I'm still afraid. I feel more for Daniel than I've felt for anyone in my life, with the sole exception of my son.  I could walk away from Sara but I have never left Charlie.  I couldn't leave Daniel.  Yet I also couldn’t make the leap of faith, could not make myself vulnerable to Daniel, open myself to the potential for love - and loss.  All I could do - all I have done - is try to get him to leave me.

The battle has raged for months.  He won't give up on me, no matter how hard I push or how dirty I fight.  Determined to hold me to doing the right thing, he’s fought on and on, ignoring the distance between us until it overwhelmed him.  I finally got my wish.  He surrendered.  Accepted this is the way things will be.  The most important person in my life is Carter.  He has to just suck it up and get on with his life.  His solitary life of the mind. I've been telling myself that Daniel not being happy is not the same as Daniel being unhappy, because it's easier on me than owning I've isolated him and turned him back in on himself and his own resources.  Easier not to see him outside of work, see how alone he is.

I don't want to face the fact he's lonely.  I seduced him into believing I'd always be there for him.  Proved I loved him over and over until little by little he let down his guard and trusted, let me in.  Gave me everything I needed to hurt him the most.  His own inner resources just aren't enough for him anymore.  He's learned to not stand apart.  He learned to let me close and when I got too close and shut him down, he'd already surrendered the defence mechanism that would once have protected him.

Easier on me for Carter to think I didn't have a frigging clue than it is for her to learn I not only KNEW, but used everything I could think of to deny it, keep him at a safe distance, controlled.  Easier on me, easier on her.

Not easy on him, but then nothing ever is.

 

* * *

In what I have to think of as his natural habitat, Daniel is quite a sight to see.  His own unique brand of shy, sincere charm coupled with terrifying fluency in Arabic got us through customs faster than Uncle Sam could manage with gunships.  I'm pretty sure the customs supremo was offering to bear Daniel's children from the way he was circling Daniel warily  - because of me - and drooling.

Not that I blame him.  I'm no stranger to intense erotic fantasies about Daniel myself, and seeing him in his archaeology get up is giving me a permanent hard-on.  Kind of a gentle, persistent ache of desire.  Liveable.  And I sincerely hope not noticeable.  If he looked like this around Carter and Fraiser without getting ravished, they're better men than me.  Battered brown leather boots that look years old.  Cream coloured chinos that emphasise slender hips and flat stomach.  Making the roof of my mouth as dry as this desert.  Cream shirt, baring the hollow at the base of his throat.  Archaeology by Gap.  Everything fits him perfectly.  Like a second skin.  Got me thinking way too much about all the actual skin those duds are concealing, hence the not unpleasant ache currently letting me know I'm alive, shit scared and so crazy in love with this man he'd be running screaming over the dunes as fast and as far as he could if he had the faintest clue.

He did me in on the flight over.  Disarmed me completely.  Had one too many nights burning the midnight translation oil and fell asleep with his head just naturally settling on my shoulder.  I sat there trying to make him as comfortable as a bony shoulder would allow, glaring down the air crew.  Complete pushover?  That's complete pushover, SIR.

I hate that Daniel doesn't bear grudges.  Carter called it better than she knew.  Once he was over the first shock of finding out what this Rayner guy was up to, that the whole sorry business wasn't dead and buried behind him, he got to thinking about the good points.  Namely a little quality time with his best friend, doing something interesting, useful and non-violent - present company excepted - at which he can shine.  Said best friend is bending over backwards to be sensitive and sympathetic, egged on by a stern talking to by his sympathetic 2IC.  Sympathetic to Daniel, mostly.

Carter was nearly in tears when I sidled into her lab and owned up some of the truth at least.  She was scared shitless she'd blown it for me, for Daniel.  For us.  She's got backbone, unlike a dumb-ass colonel we could both name.  Bless her, she's got some sweet idea that the romance of archaeology, the fragrant desert night, the stars, the campfire and a little kindness on my part will have Daniel hurling himself into my arms.

Don't tell me how weird it is to be even remotely hinting to an attractive woman that the thought of a full, varied and vigorous sex life with a beautiful man has ever so much as crossed your mind.  I'm not in the habit of talking about my intimately personal life with anyone, and certainly wasn't prepared for Carter to forget she was talking to Cro Magnon Colonel and lay some practical advice on me.  Not the actual sex, Jeez, I can handle that, but about - well  - wooing Daniel.

I staggered out blushing like a schoolgirl, more embarrassed than I've been in my entire life, and scared almost beyond the capacity for rational thought.  Apparently, Daniel is pretty near the embodiment of the feminine ideal.  He can communicate.  He can empathise.  He's sensitive.  He's - nice.  This is rare and precious in any male, and must be nurtured and protected selflessly, not used to get him naked and horizontal.

I have the unshakeable conviction I'm falling way short of the mark.  Carter might be saying woo but I'm thinking ambush.  Carter wants me to communicate.  By recent standards, if Daniel can get through an entire sentence without me biting his head off, we're communicating.  I'm way better at inarticulate silence but I swore I'd give it my best shot.

The attitude adjustment I'm doing better with.  I had endless reserves of patience and tolerance for Charlie, and I used to have them for Daniel.  I'm tapping into them now, and so far a lot of kindness has gotten me a numb shoulder courtesy of the big sleep on the flight over.

It's also gotten me a white knuckle jeep ride through the dunes courtesy of one fairly staggered archaeologist.  I actually suggested Daniel drive, being familiar with the terrain and all that.  Since he was braced for a losing fight along those exact lines, and he was already completely embarrassed about snuggling up on my shoulder in front of a lot of judgemental airmen, not unnaturally he hasn't had a single word to say to me for quite some time.  He's still waiting for the shoe to drop, I think.  However, he is smiling warmly at me whenever we aren't actively doing a controlled slither down a dune.

Warm, puzzled silence is way better than hostile silence, and I've established intimate proximity with me doesn't make him physically sick, at least not when he's unconscious. All in all, I'm making steady progress.

Daniel is handling the jeep like a pro.  He's completely wasted on a road.  I'd love to get him out rally driving some time, if he can drive this well on shifting sand.  It takes hellish concentration and physical strength and it would seem he’s got both to burn.

"Jack!" Daniel yells above the din.  "What is it!"

Crap.  I'm staring.  Staring at him.

"Just thinking!" I howl.  Mostly thinking I'd like to throw you down beneath me and lick you all over.

"Don't hurt yourself!" Daniel cheekily sticks out his tongue at me for emphasis.

Can you sprain your tongue?  That's something I'd like to destruct test on Daniel's naked, willing body.

"Don't watch me, watch the damn dune!" I yelp back as we start another of those slithering descents.

 

* * *

DANIEL

Oh dear.  Oh dear, oh dear.

This is SO not good.  Jack is having one of his ‘bad’ days.  One of his totally focused, physically aware of my every move days.  He’s so excited by my proximity, I swear, his tongue is either hanging out or just spending a lot of time licking his lips.  I refuse to get excited.  There’s no point.  He’ll never do anything about it.

I’ve just about given up on being in love with him.  There’s no point to that either.  Chalk that one up to my list of negative life experiences which, as they say, if they don’t kill you, only make you stronger.  Character building experiences.  Thank you but no.  No more.  My character has had all the building it can take.  I will unhappily settle for being good old Daniel and for the friendly colleague’s box he’s tucked me neatly into.

It’s utterly ridiculous.

I’m in love with Jack.  I’ve fantasised desperately about making love with Jack.  I don’t get particularly far, true, my imagination usually gives out on me just as it gets really exciting, but I have fantasised.  I’ve fantasised so much I’m even more nervous and confused about physical intimacy than I was when I first realised I was in love with Jack.

Unlike Jack, who gives the impression on his ‘bad’ days he just wants to throw me down and fuck me through the floor, yet he’s never given the least hint of having any feelings for me whatsoever.

I thought – or perhaps, I hoped – I sensed something had changed between us when he returned from Edora.  Wishful thinking, I suppose.  We went on being friends for a while, but Jack hasn’t been the same since the mission to destroy the Replicators on Thor’s ship.  It took me a while longer to work out why, though.

I was desperately trying to work through all that confusion, work out what I was feeling, trying to rationalise feeling physical desire for my best friend when my appendix burst.  I was sidelined.  If I’d been told Jack asking to see my scar and wanting me to go fishing was pretty much the last gasp of a friendship that means as much to me as the brief time I had with my parents, or the time I had with Sha’uri, I would have been utterly incredulous.

I didn’t do anything.  I swear.  I didn’t say or do one single thing to make him uncomfortable.  As soon as he realised he wanted to have sex with me, Jack stopped touching me.  He shut me down and then he shut me out.  He turned to Sam.  Do either of them honestly think I wouldn’t work out what had happened?  That word wouldn’t get out no matter how careful they thought they’d been?  I still feel physically sick when I recall the smirk on Jack’s face as he looked at Sam on the day the time loop finally ended for him.

We limped along for a while.  I mean, Jack pulled out all the stops to rescue me from the Unas, but that could just as easily have been down to professionalism.  I gave him the benefit of the doubt until P3R-118.  Saw the evidence with my own eyes.  A little blurry, but I got the picture.  I dreamed of him and he was snuggled up with her, right in front of me.  I’m glad I didn’t embarrass myself more than I did, blurting out all that nonsense about the dreams.  We were supposed to be best friends, but he knocked me on my ass and followed her around like a lost puppy.

That was that.  I’m straight. Jack’s ‘bad’ days aside, he’s straight.  I can’t compete with Sam, and I refuse to humiliate myself by trying. I’ve got no experience whatsoever of trying to attract a man.  I do the friendly colleague thing in public and stay the hell away from him if I can.  Lately, even being on the team seems too close.  I’m not without options.  I could have SG-5 or SG-11.  Forget about Jack, first contact and SG-1.  I could still see Teal’c on base if I wanted to.  He’s the only one I want to see, some days.  MY bad days.

Jack is sitting in the passenger seat, hanging on for grim life, undressing me with his eyes, fantasising.  When he smiles at me, I smile back.  Why do I do that?  Why?

Some nights I have to fight myself not to pick up the phone and tell him to get his ass over to my apartment and put us both out of his misery.  If he could get this terrible desire out of his system, he might leave me alone.  That’s the best I can hope for.  I’ve stopped dreaming of us being together.  Stopped fantasising about making love.  I just want to be left alone.  There isn’t much friendship left to salvage.  We can’t be friends while he’s going crazy wanting me, and if I give him what he wants he’ll lose all respect for me and the friendship is over regardless.

He’s been so kind today.  He’s disarmed me.  Again.  I’m so susceptible.  I’ve stopped wanting.  I haven’t stopped feeling.  Or hoping. I try to be a mensch.  If he reaches out, I’m here for him.  Still his friend, even if all he wants me to be is ‘friendly’.  If he wanted to make that leap of faith, want more than sex from me, he could.  I’ve done nothing whatsoever to make him believe I think any less of him than I ever have.

He hasn’t made that leap of faith, and I don’t think he will.  He can rationalise his feelings, shove them and me in a box on the sidelines, because he doesn’t feel enough.  I’m not enough.

I KNOW this.  So why am I sitting here smiling at him?  Desperate to give him that one last chance, the one I swear will BE the last every single time, until he throws me another friendship bone and I give him another last chance.

Hell.  I know why.  I’m the original Comeback Kid.  Death can’t keep me down and I’m damned if Jack O’Neill will.

I’ve grasped that sometimes winning battles is down to the terrain you fight over.  Impossible to get Jack to ‘fess up like a man that maybe, just maybe he cares for me, not  when Sam and Teal’c are right there, breathing down our necks.  Equally impossible for me to just go over to his place and throw myself at him.  I don’t want him to catch me, and I think he would.  I don’t want to be an itch that finally gets scratched.

We’re going to be out here all alone.  The customs officials are going to get creative and detain Steven when he does arrive in Egypt, and our people will let us know in the event. Jack can’t leave me and he can’t hide behind anyone else.  One honest reaction from Jack, that’s all I need.  Is he thinking sex or – or love?

All I can think to do is turn up the heat and see what happens when I bring him to the boil.

 

* * *

Jack automatically moved past me and down the stairs of the tomb.  Always has to be first. Always has to be cautious.  I can do that, but I can’t be that.  What is instinctual for Jack takes conscious thought and effort on my part.  The tomb is empty.  That may be an assumption on my part, but it’s likely to be correct.  Jack doesn’t assume.  Assumptions get his ‘kids’ hurt, captured, killed.  Jack checks and double checks, makes certain.

I watch his six.  Oh boy do I.  It’s damnably unfair that Colonel Jack O’Neill, USAF, is so – HOT.  His idea of appropriate desert apparel turned out to be jeans laundered to butter softness and a soft blue grey.  The T-shirt is pale grey too.  Cool, light and comfortable.  Clinging to every long, lean, strong inch of him, including his – six.  All he’s doing is walking carefully down a flight of stairs and he’s got me dazed with desire.

I follow meekly along behind him like a puppy on a leash.  Coveting.  His spine.  I think of my fingers digging into his shoulders as he moves above me, then slowly stroking down the length of his spine, making him lose control.

I think he’s a gentle lover.  I dream of him that way.  I saw how he was with Sara that time, how comforting and tender he was with her.  Unselfish.  Taking his time, using that strong back to – to –

Jack stops in the middle of the main chamber and looks around intently before striding over to the altar.

“This is where you were ribboned.”

“Um – how do you know that?”

“I read the report,” Jack says casually, still looking around.

He can visualise the whole thing from the report?  He’s got the exact spot I was dangling from Osiris’ grip.  “What about Sam?  Janet?”

“Over there somewhere,” Jack waves a vague hand at the wall to the left of the – I suppose you could call it Osiris’ armoury – altar and heads purposefully off into the stairwell down to the next level to check that out too.  He’s got his flashlight on but I’ll get him to help me set up the field lights when he’s confident no threat is lurking down there.  I wouldn’t consider it if we weren’t dealing with smooth, bare stone.  No inscriptions or glyphs to damage.

He – he didn’t seem to have quite such a precise fix on Sam’s location as he did on mine, for some reason.  Probably not the reason I’d like to hope it was, namely that he was more interested in the specifics of my  - um – contribution to Osiris’ entertainment.  I say Osiris because the Sarah I once knew was never really with me.  Just Osiris, ransacking Sarah’s memories and using them against me.

Sarah’s loss is muted ache in this place, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t coping with it.  I feel deep pity for Sarah’s plight, knowing she’s a hostage inside her own mind, knowing the atrocities she will unwillingly witness.  I will do everything in my power to help free her from Osiris if we ever have the opportunity.  If.  I guess I’m a little more pragmatic, or maybe a lot more realistic than I used to be.  I’m – aware – of Sarah, but I’m far more conscious of an infuriatingly obtuse and stubborn Air Force colonel and of the job I have to do here to wallow in memories.

I have access to all the equipment I require, courtesy of George.  I just have to say the word and anything I need will be choppered out to us ASAP.  Jack was all for choppering us out here too, but I vetoed that.  We really need to be instantly mobile.  A sandstorm could ground any chopper and if we did have any reason to need to get out of here in a hurry, the wait could kill us.  Literally.

I while away the time awaiting Jack’s return first by hauling down the table and some of the equipment, then by half- heartedly looking over the site surveys, trying to stop myself panicking completely every time I try to come up with ways and means of bringing Jack to the boil without making a complete idiot of myself.  Just because I can’t see any way to accomplish one without the other, doesn't mean there isn’t one.

This temple was thoroughly surveyed, by the original Stewart Expedition.  I’m not expecting to find anything that survey missed, but I know how meticulous Steven will be in his investigation and I must be sure.  I think Jack will get a kick out the ground penetrating radar equipment.  It’s not exactly an MP5, but it should help to drag his mind away from his usual knee jerk pith helmet view of archaeology.  We have toys of our own.  If he asks nicely, I’ll let him play.

I’ve put out a camp chair for Jack to sit in and annoy me from.  It’s the only way to be sure where he is at all times and what he’s doing.  I don’t want him damaging my temple.

The Expedition records actually do make fascinating reading.  It’s rare indeed in Egyptology to find an undisturbed site.  The locals have usually cleaned out a site decades or even centuries before any archaeologist gets anywhere near it.  We’re rarely talking buried treasure.  Finding it here suggests to me some sort of security was in place to protect the site.  Superstition does not supersede greed.  Something kept the locals away.  The Stewart Expedition staff knew nothing about the Goa’uld, and I have to wonder what they made of the fact the site hadn’t been disturbed in millennia.

One of the most frustrating things for me when I was trying to prove my original theory about the age of the pyramids was the lack of physical evidence.  Early archaeology was crude.  Sites were destroyed in order that they might be plundered.  There was little concern for analysis or interpretation, just the fierce joy of discovery.  There was no time for the methodical unpeeling of layer upon layer of the past until archaeology ceased to be a source of romance and became a science.  A site such as this would have been a gift to me.  The stratification would have proved conclusively how long the structure had been in existence, with signs of cultural transformation five thousand years earlier than my peers were prepared to accept.

“Whatcha doin?” Jack’s cheerful voice rings out behind me, making me jump.  He eyes the chair in a speculative ‘where’s the dry martini, then?’ sort of way and settles himself down.

I wait patiently for my cue, but the shoe refuses to drop.  I’m slightly disconcerted, give him a wary look that earns me a blinding smile.  I’m smiling back before I know it, feeling a little more confident.  Jack is in his best mood and on his best behaviour.  Maybe we’ll get through the next few days without him resorting to withering sarcasm or the vilification of my vocation because it isn’t exciting enough for him.

“Um – just reading the reports of the Stewart Expedition.  They’re fascinat – “ I bite off the words.  He’s not interested, always shuts me –

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are they fascinating?”

“Oh!” Jack wants to know.  He actually – wants – to know.  I think I need to sit down.  This is by way of being a calendar event, Jack asking me to elaborate.  I don’t sit down.  Instead I turn back to my table, plant my elbows, and present him with an eyeful of the Jackson derriere.  Too much to hope it will instantly inspire him to take a handful of said derriere, but I’ll give it my best shot.

There’s an awful lot of silence behind me, faintly punctuated by some rapid, shallow breathing.  Heartened by signs I’ve already engaged Jack’s interest, I decide to make him simmer a little.  I’ve got papers spread out all over the table.  I could stand up and reach them, but it’s much more fun to just lean.  Or maybe sway.  Basically, I’m keeping my rear in constant, gentle motion as I give Jack an interesting little lecture about the history of archaeology and the importance of scientific methods in field excavation.  He takes it like a lamb.  I stop the swaying every time I reach a natural break in the monologue, at which point it becomes a dialogue, Jack earnestly requesting me to continue.  I graciously consent and get right back to the swaying.  When I think Jack just can’t take any more on the enthralling subject of relative and absolute dating, I decide to take pity on him AND go out on a high note.  There’s one elusive file right across the other side of the table.  I lean over and sort of sprawl myself wantonly across the tabletop.  I hear a heart rending groan from behind me.

“I’m – I – tent!” a strangled voice barely recognisable as Jack’s grinds out.  By the time I’ve straightened up and turned to face him, he’s bolting up the stairs three at a time.

With something of a shock, I realise Jack O’Neill is afraid of me.  This is FUN.  I’m not absolutely positive, but the rapidity of Jack’s retreat suggests he’s in dire need of some privacy.  And a cooling off period.  Ah, well.  Into every life a little pain must fall.

What he’s going to get is a lot of intimate proximity and a talk about penetration.

 

* * *

JACK

I can’t take much more.  After Daniel’s tasteful, scholarly, fully clothed, rear view only version of the Dance of the Seven Veils, I hauled ass out of that tomb like a bat out of hell, desperate to take care of some extremely pressing business behind the nearest dune.

Now he’s in my arms and that urgent business is pressing right into his exquisitely firm, pert and perfect buttocks.  He’s blithely lecturing me on this radar gizmo.  There’s not a hope in hell I’ll be able to use this thing.  I haven’t heard one word in ten.  All this roaring in my ears.  My blood supply is so dangerously low I’m feeling faint.

“For MAXIMUM penetration, placing the  - antennas - at discrete positions -- ”

I’m breathing hard.  Sweating.  His silky hair is brushing against my cheek, his throat is so close the slightest turn of my head and I could lick it.

“ -- and doing multiple  - scans - in that position.”

Jesus.  He’s totally oblivious, every little wriggle of his butt sending shocks of pleasure through my groin.

“ -- this is a slow method -- the velocity at which the  - antennas - can be moved is determined -- ”

He’s talking a lot of incomprehensible gibberish about wavelengths and radargrams.  The only fucking word I hear is penetration.

Warm skin.  The scent of him.  Hands gentle over mine, steadying the equipment.

“Care must always be taken to ensure that station-spacing is close enough to give  - sufficient -- ”

Soft, dreamy voice lulling me.  Sex.  I’m having sex.  Aural sex.

“-- spatial  - resolution.”

Sensory overload is killing me.  I’ve going down to the wire and when I hit it, I’ll be coming.

“What is the maximum penetration required?”

Want to be buried to the root --

“What is the minimum object size that needs to be resolved?”

In your virgin derriere --

“What is the minimum spatial resolution required?”

Want it.  Don’t need it.  Just standing here holding you is doing it for me, Danny.  Oh GOD is it.

I pull away.  “Call o’ nature.”  Then I stalk stiffly over the crest of the nearest dune, slither down it on my ass, wait a beat for signs of pursuit, unzip my fly, and desperately jerk off, coming hard within moments, screaming his name behind my stifling hand.

He’s KILLING me.

When I do finally hobble back to the top of the dune, Daniel is nowhere in sight.  Given me up as a bad job.  Joke.  Whatever.  He must be wondering what the hell is going on.  I’m a frigging pilot, for God’s sake.  I should be able to operate that stupid radar gizmo blindfold.  What the hell am I supposed to say?  ‘Sorry, Daniel.  Could you run through that again for me, from the top?  I was just a little distracted by the orgasm I was having, first time round’.

Yeah.  That’ll work.

I should be helping him set up the field lights so he can work in there, but I can’t.  It’s not safe to be that close to him, not yet.  I’ll be better in a while, when my heated skin has cooled and the smell of sex has blown off me.  He deserves better than me slobbering all over him and jerking off behind the dunes with his face in my mind and his name on my lips.  Fucking voyeur.

I wearily set to the only useful thing I can do, which is to set up the camp in the spot Daniel said would be safest.  He thinks the dunes are stable, but it’s as well to be sure.  If any kind of storm blows up, we take refuge in the tomb.  Safer for him than the goddamn tent.

 

* * *

For pity’s sake, Daniel, must you sit so close?

With a whole three hundred and sixty degrees to choose from, Daniel has decided the only place he’s comfortable at this campfire is right next to me.  I can feel the warmth of his thigh against mine every time he shifts position.  The softness of skin as our arms brush.  He’s taken off his glasses as the sun sets and having those huge, beguiling eyes gazing into mine is not helping.  Not one bit.

“It’s astonishing how much the Goa’uld occupation has imprinted on the human psyche.  Listen to this. ‘Unas hath weighted his words with the hidden god who hath no name, on the day of hacking in pieces the firstborn. Unas is the lord of offerings, the untier of the knot, and he himself maketh abundant the offerings of meat and drink. Unas devoureth men and liveth upon the gods, he is the lord of envoys, whom he sendeth forth on his missions. He who cutteth off hairy scalp, who dwelleth in the fields, tieth the gods with ropes’.”

“Unas?”  Big stinky monster Unas?

“Unbelievable, isn’t it?  That’s one of the inscriptions in the Pyramid Texts inscribed on the inner walls of the pyramids at Saqqara.  Old Kingdom, two and half thousand years BC according to –“

“Everyone but you,” I smile at him.  He smiles back.  Too close.  WAY too close.  So – so beautiful.  He could sit here by my side smiling at me this way and read me the Yellow Pages and I wouldn’t murmur a word of protest.

“I estimated five thousand years old, but even so, that myth, that tradition was passed down through the oral traditions of the people, and in the earliest writing systems.  Our ancestors tried to warn us of the danger we were in, but we couldn’t hear them.  Got another one for you.  ‘The roaring tempest drives him, it roars like Seth. The guardians of Heaven's parts open the doors of Heaven for him. Dawning as a falcon, he reaches the celestial realm of Ra on the Imperishable Star and is placed on the throne of Osiris. His lifetime is eternity, its limit everlastingness.’  From the pyramid of King Pepi, who died in 2255BC.   Everything we needed to know was right here.  Even the fact the Egyptians always depicted their Sun Gods with blue eyes to denote the race they came from.  The race of the Gods, the obsession with ascension into the heavens to rejoin Ra.”

“Glowing eyes?  Goa’uld.”

“That’s why this work is so important, Jack,” Daniel insists, laying a compelling hand over mine.  Which is on my knee.  Which is too – don’t go there, O’Neill.  Once was already once too often.  “I know you resent the time I spend away from SG-1, I know it inconveniences you, but there’s so much work to be done, and so few of us to do it we can barely scratch the surface.  You have to understand that?” he pleads, voice softening even more.

“Whatever you want, Danny,” I say more softly still, leaning in close, close enough to – to – Daniel’s lips parting --

“Jack?” a whisper.

Close enough to kiss.

“Sleep!” I yelp, making Daniel rear back from me in shock.  “Have to sleep now. G’night.”

“Good night, Jack,” Daniel says quietly as I leap to my feet and stride off.  When I look back, his head is bowed.

I’m a bastard.  What am I?  It’s not Daniel’s fault I want to throw him down and kiss him senseless before I do a lot of other – things – HOT things.  NO.  Stop.  Enough already.  He’s going to be lying next to me, sleeping, as soon as he gets over the latest kick in the ass I’ve just given him.

 

* * *

Where is he?  Where the HELL is Daniel?  It’s three am for God’s sake.  I scramble out of my sleeping bag.  His is still in its roll.  He hasn’t slept in it. I duck out of the tent, flashlight sweeping the camp.  Not by the fire or anywhere near by.  I pick my way carefully down the dune and check out the jeep.  Nothing.  Which just leaves door number three.  The tomb.

I cannot believe he’s burning the midnight oil here, too.  Take my eyes off him for two minutes and he pulls a dumb-ass stunt like this.  There’s fuck all here to worry about, even I can see that.  He wants to play with his toys and bend my ear about archaeology for a couple days, that’s fine by me.  I’ll beat seven kinds of shit out of this Rayner guy if he turns up, then we book, straight back to clean sheets, comfortable beds and Showtime.

I take my time down the stairs, no point breaking my neck.  It might solve this huge problem I currently got, being caught between the devil and my 2IC, but frankly it’s a little extreme even for me as a short term solution.

As soon as the main chamber opens up in front of me I see the faint glow of the lantern, tucked away behind the farthest pillar from the entrance.  Somehow, I don’t think he’s working.

My heart sickeningly skips a beat.  He knows.  My God.  He knows I was going to kiss him.  Daniel KNOWS.  What do I do now?  What the hell do I do?  Feelings.  I was supposed to deal with the feelings first.  Not the sex.  The feelings.  Simple instructions.  Clear.

Show some backbone.

Forty four year old career Air Force dumb-ass hard-ass wise-ass gotta stand there and convince a man like Daniel – Daniel Jackson! - not to laugh in my face when I tell him I’ve been a complete bastard to him because I’m so fucking spineless I blamed him for making me fall in love with him.  And, yeah, if he’s struggling to pick out the upbeat subliminal message there, it’s I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU.  Not to worry though, I won’t let your compassion hit me in the ass on my way out your door.

Get in line for that one.

He’s not laughing.

I hear a soft noise I haven’t heard since Charlie – since – Crying.  He hit twelve and suddenly it wasn’t manly to cry.  All he’d allow himself were these tiny muffled hints of suppressed misery, fist stuffed in his mouth, trying to physically choke back the sobs. Same muted sounds here.  I made Daniel CRY.  Fuck’s sake.  Way to go, O’Neill.  HAPPY now?

I switch off the flashlight as the beam wavers.  Hands shaking a little, here.  Try to work out what to do.  Never crossed my mind it might just be a tad difficult for Daniel coming back here to shake hands with a shit load of bad memories.  I don’t know much about this Sarah of his, and grilling Carter for intel got me zip.  Daniel might have talked to her, but neither of them talked to me.

It’s not just that.  He’s been through the mill recently, what with the Harsesis turning up outta the blue like that, the whole addiction thing.  I’d been comforting myself the intensity of my own reaction in the Infirmary was entirely down to the addiction until Carter marched in and took my self-absorption out at the knees.  I feel as much for Daniel as I ever did, more maybe.  He’s been so miserable it took him out onto his balcony, ready to jump.  Feelings blown way out of proportion by the withdrawal, but still, THERE.

Me blowing hot and cold here is not helping.  If he’d wanted to talk to me about Sarah, about anything, he would have come into the tent.  He didn’t, and now I think I should respect his privacy.  I can’t talk about my feelings with him, always trail off into silence, incoherent apologies and intense looks at the ceiling or something.  Normally I’d hug him, but at the moment the natural place for him to be hugged is flat on his back beneath me, preferably naked and begging me to – BAD idea.  Bad.

Only thing I can think to do is book, and not let on I was ever here.  He’s not reacted to my presence at all, so I figure it’s safe to walk quietly away.  I’ll just have to be sure to lay on the welcome wagon tomorrow – later – and see if I can’t coax him to come to me.

 

* * *

I got no sleep whatsoever after I left Daniel alone in the tomb.  He finally crept into the tent at around four am, knelt beside me for a few minutes, then crawled into his sleeping bag and went out like a light.  I’d like to think he was looking at me, but I guess he was just unrolling his sleeping bag as quietly as possible.  He’s been well trained to be considerate of others.  I don’t like to think about why or how too much, though I can’t help thinking as a foster kid he had to learn how to hit the ground running if he was to have any hope of sticking around.  Daniel is infinitely resourceful, adaptable and independent.

There isn’t a hint from him this morning that he was up half the night fretting, but I guess he’s used to functioning in a near permanent state of sleep deprivation.  He’s been hard at it with the radar gizmo most of the morning, I’ve been hard at it sitting on my ass, teasing the shit out of him and generally watching him like a hawk.  And asking some very specific questions Daniel was more than happy to answer.

We’re expecting company.  Daniel caught me red handed after breakfast, on the horn with Hammond.  Rayner arrived in Egypt in the early hours of the morning and was promptly detained by the authorities.  I was in full flow, suggesting the general suggest they keep right on detaining the schmo when Daniel walked right up close, laid his hand on my arm, and batted his eyes at me.  What with the soft voice and all, I was so captivated I completely lost the thread of my rant and just nodded when he suggested it was better to air problems, meet them head on and didn’t I agree, Jack.  Yep, sure, you betcha.  He also had to point out the general couldn’t hear me nodding, which involved whispering into my ear so I wasn’t embarrassed in front of my commanding officer.  I was somewhat – embarrassed – in front of my archaeologist, but I’m starting to get used to THAT.

Daniel is convinced a rational archaeologist to archaeologist talk will do the trick.  Persuade Rayner to back off and forget about what happened.  Forget what little he remembers, which isn’t much.  He’s got some memory loss as a result of the head injury he sustained in the attack.  Apparently, he remembers turning the key that unlocked the altar deal, so he remembers a glimpse of the Goa’uld technology and not much else.  Daniel’s hoping gentle persuasion will work but I’m betting I have to lean on this guy.  I got a strategy, thanks to the information Daniel gave me.  And snacks.

“Daniel? Romantic picnic for two?  Sit on my lap, let me nibble on you?  Pretty please?”

Chances of him saying yes are slim to none, about the same odds as his chances of hearing me through headphones and ground penetrating radar  - er – penetrating.   Damn thing sounds like R2-D2.  “DANIEL!  EAT!”  Daniel hunches an impatient shoulder.  “NOW!”  I assist him in making the informed choice by firmly but kindly removing the headphones from his head and the radar from his grasp. There is a brief, heated argument between my conscience and my libido, libido winning by a mile, so I keep hold of his hand and haul him rapidly up the stairs and into the sunlit main chamber hoping it comes off as stern and parental.  He doesn’t object at all, though he does look surprised when he takes in the setting.  Yeah.  I’m a pushover.  Got the food all laid out where he can sit with the sunlight streaming down on his back and I can watch and gloat.  There’s no rule says you can’t be a ROMANTIC voyeuristic asshole.

“I cooked,” I tell him proudly, reluctantly letting go of his hand and graciously permitting him to get more than two steps from my side.

“I can see,” Daniel admires.  “You opened the cans and everything.”

So it’s not exactly cordon bleue, but I did my best, and we do have snacks.  And coffee.  Meticulously prepared to Daniel’s exacting specifications.  He never says the coffee is wonderful, but he has much to say if it isn’t.  Carter and I make superb coffee, we’re both well aware we’re dealing with a sensitive and educated palette.  This is premium Colombian roast; organic, ethical, expensive.  Boy is it expensive.  Carter contributed too, dug deep in her desk and came up with some quality Daniel snacks.  Belgian chocolate.  As in, chocolate FROM Belgium.

Daniel loves chocolate.  I love that Daniel loves chocolate.  He nibbles gently.  Savours.  Closes dreamy eyes.  Makes spine tingling soft murmurs of appreciation.  Mmm.  With Belgian chocolate from Belgium, I’m expecting the works.  Which is why he’ll get his chocolate little and often.  Can’t use up all those ecstatic little moans in one sitting.

I’ve got information to finesse out of Daniel.  Kinda got an idea of the way I can play Rayner when Daniel’s appeals to his better nature fall flat.  Looking forward to it.  The SOB was at Daniel’s swansong lecture, the one that ended his career and brought him to me.  He’s kinda the Salieri to Daniel’s Mozart, a no doubt talented archaeologist who’s had to malinger on the periphery while Daniel’s genius held centre stage.  He might be the one in the Porsche but I’m betting he knows in his bones which of them is the better scholar.  Rayner is  so eaten up with jealousy and resentment he was still giving Daniel hell even though for all he knew, Daniel’s career was in the toilet.  He tried to pin the blame for the curator’s death on Daniel, did his best to destroy the evidence that would have vindicated Daniel and came here expressly to steal the credit for Daniel’s work, by making the discovery.

Oh yes, I’m looking forward to meeting this guy.  Carter’s only regret about not being here was she was deprived of the opportunity to kick some major Rayner butt, and Teal’c would like to zat him where he stands.  I got no fault to find with that.  Since Hammond refused to let me cross international borders with a zat gun, I’ll have to settle for messing with the guy’s mind.  Royally.

“Daniel?   Been thinking -- ”

“Again?” Daniel looks up from the macaroni and cheese he’s stoically chewing his way through, “I’m not sure I can take the excitement.  That’s twice in two days.”

“I’m shootin’ for the record,” I say dryly, desperately ignoring the treacherous pang shooting through my groin as Daniel’s eyes sparkle at me.  I don’t succeed very well, and I also forget what I was going to say.  I certainly forget to say it or anything else as Daniel abandons his entrée and throws himself wholeheartedly into his dessert.

He’s – licking.  Melted chocolate.  Fingers. Tongue. Help.

 

* * *

DANIEL

He was going to kiss me.  He came so close to just taking my mouth, and then he – saw – me.  Froze and bolted.  Almost knocked me on my ass on the way past.  I took the hint.  Let him be.

I passed a miserable night.  I was so aroused, I was afraid to be anywhere near him.  Erotic dreams in adjacent sleeping bags? When I get excited, I – I moan.  I ARCH.  I’m prepared to do a lot of things for Jack O’Neill, but solo arching for his edification and entertainment is NOT one of them.  He doesn’t get to see me arch unless he’s the one causing it.  And I’m talking hands on, not vicariously.

Exhaustion beat me.  As soon as I stopped working, I started thinking.  Feeling.  Bravado is easy in daylight.  Cracking my tough nut colonel is wicked and rewarding.  At three in the morning, it’s terrifying.  If he doesn’t feel for me what I feel for him, or if he does and he won’t admit it, then all I will accomplish with this is ending our friendship.  It’s all - or nothing.

I reached my lowest ebb in the early hours of the morning, frozen with indecision.  Unsure which would hurt me more.  Wanting or – or having.  Was it damned if I do and damned if I don’t?  In the end, all I could think, over and over, was if Jack is worth having, he’s worth fighting for.  I may be scared to death, I may be going down, but at least I’m going to go down fighting.

Jack wants a piece of my ass?  He’s gonna have to earn it.  Starting now.  Chocolate melts at body temperature.  It’s pure sensuous indulgence.  Something you can’t adequately explain to those who don’t love chocolate.  You can however graphically demonstrate if you set your mind to it.  I’m setting mine good and hard.  Rather like an increasingly prominent part of Jack’s anatomy, as I dreamily suckle melting chocolate from the tips of my fingers.  With closed eyes and the occasional murmur of appreciation.  I’m trying for subtle and seductive.

Jack’s breathing sounds a little ragged, so perhaps I should crank it up a bit?  A little light licking.  Eyes open.  Watch him stare at my tongue as I lick slowly up my index finger for that last elusive taste of chocolate.  I smile at him.  Jack puts his tongue back in his mouth and smiles right back.  There’s a tiny shift in position, a readying, as if he’s about to lean forward.  I’m right here, Jack.  All you have to do is reach out and -- Jack’s eyes shift past me and narrow, icing over.

“Now I know what you’ve been doing for the last five years, Daniel,” Steven’s angry voice snaps from behind me.  “Or should I say who?” he drawls contemptuously.

We rise to our feet as Steven lopes down the steps towards us.  Wonder of wonders, I’m not blushing for once.  Jack is the one who is flushed, but I don’t think it’s from embarrassment.  He looks me over searchingly and his lips tighten.

“I guess he’s the reason you haven’t applied for a single research grant I could discover,” Steven continues in that cuttingly contemptuous tone.

He’s too close to Jack to be using a tone like that, implying what he’s implying.  The same PLANET is probably too close for Steven to be to Jack right now, given Steven has just called me a whore in all but name.  Charming.

“Dr Steven Rayner,” he informs Jack brusquely, sticking out his hand. “Oriental Institute, Chicago.”

It never hurts to propitiate potential backers, eh, Steven?

Jack slips his own hands into his pockets and thoughtfully regards Steven’s outstretched hand for a moment.  Then he smiles.  If I was Steven, I’d be taking several steps back from that smile.   Rapid steps.  Jack is about to happen to him.

“Jack,” he says sardonically, “Idle dilettante.”

I'm guessing that the attraction arcing between Jack and I must have been in the kilowatt range for Steven to not only pick up on it immediately, but to challenge me on it.  It looks as if Sam was correct.  Steven remains as self-absorbed and ambitious as ever he was.  Only now, without Professor Jordan's watchful eye on him, Steven isn't afraid to show it, lashing out with the most cutting insult he can offer.

Unfortunately for Steven, I recognise the tactic.  I've seen Jack do the same thing.  If your position is weak, go on the offensive.  Both Jack and Steven have complete mastery over the difficult art of going on the offensive and being offensive at one and the same time.

Of course, since my role is usually little archaeologist lost, I'm guessing I'm supposed to just wither up and die of humiliation at this point, kissing the last tatters of my professional reputation good bye.  I can just see Steven circulating at the next Archaeological Institute of America AGM, spreading the good news.  'Heard the latest on Daniel Jackson? Not only out but going down!'  I'm pretty sure selling a piece of your ass in return for research funding is a clear breach of Article 1.2 of the RPA code of conduct.  Prostituting myself clearly constitutes unethical behaviour and would indeed be the final straw required to get me summarily removed from the Register of Professional Archaeologists first chance Steven gets.

Unfortunately for Steven - and Jack - I am no longer the little archaeologist lost and therefore I will not be sobbing my heart out in a quiet corner over my ruined reputation any time soon.  As Jack and I were caught in flagrante, so to speak, I think the logical course of action is to brazen it out.  'Spin' it.  Steven already thinks we're having sex.  I just need him to believe we're having sex because we're LOVERS.  I'm certain there's nothing in the RPA code of conduct about sexual orientation, though the profession as a whole has a lot to say about prejudice.  All that overlap with anthropology tends to result in zero tolerance of discriminatory practices.

Jack has zero tolerance for scientists in general and my erstwhile colleagues in particular, an immutable fact which I sense he is about to forcefully make crystal clear to Steven.

I don't know if Jack would approve of my strategy, but I do know he backs up his team, so he'll play along if I present an appropriate course of action.  I believe the correct military term for my strategy is full frontal assault.  I've got both an archaeologist and a colonel in my sights.  I can protect my professional reputation and force Jack to close some of the distance between us at the same time.  There is one simple solution to both difficulties.

“And we’re together,” I say calmly to Steven as I move to Jack's side and place my hand on his arm.  I feel a little guilty that I don’t feel at all guilty about taking such outrageous advantage of him.  I sense Jack would actually approve of my pragmatism and all round sneakiness, if I was to let him in on it.   I’ve learned from the best, after all.

I feel  - compelled - to push it just that bit further.  I realise in light of my announcement, a tentative hand on my supposed lover’s arm isn’t a TOTALLY convincing display of uncontrollable animal passion.  “Jack is shy.”

Jack gives me a long steady look, leaves whatever he was about to say unsaid and adjusts his tactics in light of the new ‘intel’.  Bless him, he does try, but he utterly fails to look shy.  He promptly abandons the unequal struggle, graciously saving my lying little guilt-free ass by spooning up against it and hugging me tight against his chest.  Strangely, one of Jack’s hands insists it is perfectly comfortable curved over my hip.  I try not to flinch and to look as if this happens all the time, as Jack rests his chin on my shoulder and eyeballs a visibly bristling Steven.  I also rest my hand over the top of Jack’s because I don’t want him taking advantage of ME and – er – roaming for the sake of corroborating my story.  So I’m a hypocrite.  So sue me.

“I’m working hard to overcome that pesky touch taboo,” Jack placidly offers by way of explanation. “My therapist feels I’m making steady progress in feeling up – “

“What can we do for you, Steven?” I interject hurriedly.

“I think you know what, Daniel – “

“Dr Jackson,” Jack interrupts.  “If you insist on ‘Dr Rayner’, you can extend Daniel the same courtesy,” Jack smirks.  “Let’s try to avoid these infantile power games, shall we?” he adds sardonically.

Steven flushes angrily and resumes his attack.  “I’m quite impressed you’ve managed to last this long, Daniel, even if it is beyond the fringe of the profession.  You must have been fairly  – creative – in your ‘fundraising’  efforts.”

There’s nothing for Steven to see, Jack is too good for that, but I can feel the tension simmering behind me.  Vibrating rather pleasurably – and quite distractingly – against my butt.

“Absolutely,” Jack agrees equably. “From the moment I laid eyes on him, Danny just blew me away.  I knew a completely original thinker when I saw one. I don’t waste my time on wannabes and never were’s when I can have the BEST.  As for being out here beyond the so-called fringe?  Daniel’s separation from a bunch of also-rans with petty personal agendas, closed minds and professional scores to settle doesn’t keep him up at night. “ Jack smirks maddeningly at Steven, licking his lips, making it clear I’ve got something else entirely keeping me awake at night.

I wish.  I really do.  Working on it right now.

“I know EXACTLY what Daniel can do for you, STEVEN,” Jack is scathing. “He can slink back to ‘suffer’ silently in obscurity while you take credit for his theories.  That is why you’re here, isn’t it?  To steal Daniel’s work?  That’s what brought you here the first time.”

Steven loses it completely in the face of that pithy, pointed condemnation.  His dark eyes are liquid with rage, but he’s – lightweight – compared to Jack. All sound and fury, no substance.  I tread heavily on Jack’s foot, making him wince. He’s going too far.  “Steven apologised for that, Jack,” I quell him.  “He made a mistake.”

“Sure did.  Shoulda moved quicker,” Jack refuses to be suppressed.

“I don’t need to ‘steal’ DANIEL’S work,” Steven snarls.  “I’m the one with the frigging Porsche and the bestseller –“

“Populist crap,” Jack condemns Steven with all the superb conviction of a man who has occasionally been compelled to suffer through History Channel Egyptology specials.  “And yet - you still want to be Daniel when you grow up.  I’m strictly a layman, but YOU’RE not, Rayner.  If even I can see the difference between what Daniel does and what you do, how much more clearly do YOU see it?  Try thinking for yourself.  Try having your own career instead of Daniel’s.  You’ll live longer.”

Steven is so enraged he can’t get a word out, turning on his heel and storming out of the temple.

“That went well,” Jack murmurs smugly, making no move whatsoever to let me go.  In fact he spoons a little closer and starts taking an interest in my ear.

I’m sorely tempted but I can’t have him going Alpha Male on me.  I’m not so much treading on Jack’s foot this time as stamping on it, at the same time as I apply an elbow vigorously to his ribcage.

“Uurgh!” Jack groans, hopping back madly.

I turn on him.  “Knock it off!”  I hiss, seething.

“I was JOKING,” Jack makes with the big reproachful puppy eyes.

Be still my beating heart.  “You’re SERIOUS and we both know it!  I’m NOT letting you shoot him!”

“I want to,” Jack says sullenly, still nursing his wounded foot.

“Well, you’re not!”

“But I want to,” he insists stubbornly.

“No.”

“He’s an asshole!”

“We’re supposed to be calming him down, lulling his suspicions,” I say sternly.

“You can’t get calmer than dead,” Jack tempts.  “I’ll take care of -- ” he makes a little gun of his hand and mimes shooting it – “You’ll have to do the spadework.  Broke my damn foot, here!”

I wasn’t going to say anything -- I turn my back on him and stalk off up the steps.  When I reach the turn I glance over my shoulder and watch Jack’s antics for a moment.  I’m pleased I wasn’t the only one distracted by the close proximity.  It’s a good sign.  Isn’t it?

“Jack?”  I smile sweetly at his suddenly hopeful face.  “I stepped on the OTHER foot.”


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slash: Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Category: Action/Adventure. First Time. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.  
> Season/Spoilers: Season 4. Follows events in The Curse and Double Jeopardy.  
> Synopsis: Daniel and Jack learn - and teach - difficult lessons in honesty and faithfulness.  
> Warnings: Minor character death. Violence. Language. Intense situations.

JACK

I quietly follow Daniel quietly up the steps and sneak over to the jeep and the emergency phone while he heads over to the camp and Rayner.  Time to check in with ‘Dr Sam’.  My time, that is.  I check my watch as I dial Carter’s ‘family only’ number.   
It’s around five am in Colorado.  If she’s not already up, she soon will be.  I’ve got no sympathy.  She got me into this damned mess in the first place.

“Sam here,” a bright voice greets the crack of dawn.

“Carter?  Can you talk?” I snap.

“Sir?” Carter is startled.  “Yes, of course.  Is – is everything all right?”

“No,” I say flatly.  “Couldn’t be more wrong.“  I hate that I compromised Daniel in front of someone whose opinion matters to him, hate that Rayner saw enough of my intent to leap straight to the more or less correct conclusion about what was going on between Daniel and me.  What the hell could I do but back Daniel up?  It’s his reputation on the line, not mine.  He chose to confront Rayner head on and I have to admit it seems to be working.  Daniel didn’t know what it would do to me to have to play along with this charade.  He has no idea just how much self-control it’s going to take to have to be that close to him, yet still not have permission to touch.  I owe it to Daniel to make it work.  I have to try to make it work, yet I’m morbidly aware of the risk I’m taking with our friendship if I step over the line.  I still have no idea what – if anything - Daniel is feeling.

“I’m sorry,” Carter murmurs sympathetically, “Have you said anything to Daniel, Sir?”

“What can I say to him, Carter?”  I have no idea how I’m supposed to convince Daniel that I love him.  I’ve never told a man I was in love with him, never imagined it, but then, I’d never met a man like Daniel.  I’m conscious of the differences between us in ways I never was before.  Daniel may not judge, but I do.  If Colonel Jack O’Neill walked up to Dr Daniel Jackson in the museum of the Oriental Institute in Chicago and asked him out, what chance would he stand?  I suspect none.  I’m an average guy with a bad attitude who excelled at a filthy job and failed to make a success of the good suburban life.  I’m Bud, pizza, hockey, Showtime.  Meat and potatoes.

Daniel is – extraordinary.  he never ceases to amaze me; he knows so much, he can do so much.  He’s capable of so much.  I can see every single thing about him that makes me want him so badly it’s hurting us both, but when it comes to looking at myself all I see is the Stargate brought us together in a way that life would not, and that SG-1 has kept him by my side.  I can’t see my way clear to persuading him to give me a chance – give me time - to convince him it would work between us.  I don’t know that myself.

“Sir?”  Carter prompts when I don’t break the heavy silence. “Is there anything I can do?  I’ll help if I can.”

I glance up the dune.  Daniel is coming out of our tent, and headed over towards Rayner, who’s venting his spleen all over his tent.

“Sir?”

“I know you want to help, Carter, but I’m not sure you can.  Daniel has committed us to a course of action I didn’t expect,” I hesitate.  “I’m not in control of events here.”

Things are moving too fast.  I’m not sure I can be as close as I’m going to have to be to Daniel and not give myself away completely.  Hell, I’ve known the danger I was in for months, that’s why I pushed him away.  He knows me too well, he sees too damn much.  I don’t want him seeing before I know I’m ready.  I still don’t know if I can open up to him in the way I opened up to Sarah, if I can make myself vulnerable to him.  Loving Daniel – wanting him – is not enough if I can’t commit to him, and he won’t be convinced to give me a chance if I offer him anything less.

“You know Daniel better than anyone, Sir.  Whatever this course of action is, he wouldn’t have pursued it without good reason, especially if it put you in a difficult position.” After an awkward silence Carter realises I’m not going to give her specifics.  “What Daniel says isn’t important, Sir.  It’s what he DOES,” she states emphatically.

“You mean I should go with the flow, try a little covert surveillance?” I ask wryly.  Get close to Daniel physically, while he’s permitting it, and just see how he reacts?  Daniel is lousy at disguising strong emotions.  He ‘talks’ with his body.  I remember his reaction to Hathor.  Even if the snake hadn’t decided I was the host with the most, there was no way I was handing over one of my kids.  Daniel is no coward.  His courage  - moral, emotional AND physical - scares the shit out of the rest of us more often than we’d care to admit.  Daniel’s body language has stuck in my mind to this very day.  Hugging himself, face blank, taking careful steps towards Carter and me.  The first time I can remember seeing Daniel truly afraid.  He was the same when Carter was taken over by the computer ‘entity’.  Shut down, expressionless.  Had to get away from us and be alone.

“Trust your instincts, trust how well you know Daniel,” Carter suggests gently.  “And trust yourself, too.  This will work out, I know it will.”

“You’re a good friend, Sam,” I mutter gruffly.  Dry throat.  Um – desert.  Yeah.  Or maybe I’m just getting all girly and sentimental in my old age.

“Thank you, Sir,” a soft sigh echoes, “I do try.”

As much as I let her try, I guess.  I glance up the dune, check on Daniel again.  “For cryin’ out loud!  Now he’s fighting!  Gotta go!”

 

* * *

DANIEL

When I get outside, Steven is venting his rage on a perfectly innocent tent.  It occurs to me anyone looking in OUR tent would be justified in thinking the ‘thrill’ had gone.  I sneak in and remedy a little separation anxiety.  I suspect Jack will find it much harder to avoid me when I’m in the sleeping bag WITH him.

It’s a lot of fun playing dirty.

I walk the short distance over to Steven’s proto-tent and silently offer assistance.  There’s not much Steven can do other than keep throwing hissy fits.  He won’t leave until he’s been convinced there’s nothing here for him, and he can’t ride roughshod over us.  We were here first, and unlike him, we have permission to be here.

I don’t need Jack to fight my battles for me, but I hate to disappoint him. He does so enjoy being the colonel at people, especially ones who don’t know he’s a colonel and just think he’s some kick-ass head-case.  He adores being dangerous.

After my tactical redeployment of the sleeping bags, we’ll see just how dangerous he can be tonight, snuggled up next to me.

“How long have you known him?” Steven demands after we work on the tent in silence for a while, his tone stiff and resentful.

“Five years.”

“FIVE?  That means – you must have met him right after – after –- “

“My lecture?” I say lightly.  “Pretty much.”

“You went right to him from Sarah,” Steven can’t hide his bitterness. “Onwards and upwards, huh?”

Steven never approved of my relationship with Sarah, and his snide asides did nothing to make a difficult break-up any easier.  Neither he nor Sarah approved of the direction my work was taking.  Sarah couldn’t let it alone, pushed and pushed me to abandon my quixotic theories and to toe the conventional line.  Think of my career.  Think of her.  I  know I drove her crazy.  I refused to fight about it, and I refused to listen to her.  I’ve never forgotten the tirade that sped me on my way to L.A.  She KNEW how sensitive I was even Nick didn’t support my theories.  Her attack was unconscionable.  I’ll never know if she forgave me.  Osiris used that memory, amongst many others, to try to extract information from me.

“I don’t get it,” Steven bursts out, eyeing me in angry disbelief.  “What does a man like YOU see in a  - a middle aged dullard like that?”

“WHAT?” How DARE he- “Jack is worth TEN of you!  I love him for ALL the ways he’s different from people like you!  Jack might not be a PhD, he might not measure up by YOUR petty, rigid, small minded standards, but unlike YOU, the one thing he’s NOT is unoriginal!”

Steven lunges at me, swinging. I block the blow automatically, pushing my weight into his outstretched arm as I trip him and force him smoothly down to the sand, my knee pinning him flat.  I’m amazed it worked so well.  Jack will be amazed too.  We thought he’d been failing to teach me that move for years.

“Not bad,” Jack judges, looming up behind me suddenly.  He’s a tad out of breath. “That knee should be a little further up though.”

Wouldn’t that cut off his air supp- “Jack!”

“What?” Jack gives me his patented ‘who? me?’ shit-eating grin, spreading innocent hands to the heavens.

Right.

I turn my attention once more to Steven.  “Are you going to be reasonable -- ” my voice is swallowed by the avid brown eyes fixed on mine.  “You were jealous!”

“Of YOU?” Steven snorts derisively.

“Of Sarah,” I’m dazed.  Why did I never see it before?  In point of fact, I’m so dazed, Steven knocks me on my ass and scrambles to his feet, standing over me with an ugly look on his face.

“Please,” a menacing voice invites.  Jack.  Please give me a reason to hurt you.  Steven might be a PhD, but that doesn’t make him stupid.  He backs off.  In fact he storms off, tearing down the dune towards his truck.

“It’s like the goddamned ‘Young and the Restless’ out here,” Jack complains, clearly jaundiced.  He stoops and yanks me to my feet, surprising me by slipping his arm around my waist. “Gotta keep up the act.”  He becomes enthralled by the desert landscape as he leads me unresisting over to the tent.  “Pit stop,” he explains.  “Or should I say reality check?  Any particular reason why I’ve been cast as love’s young dream?”  The instant Jack dips his head beneath the flap he freezes.

Ah.  The moment of truth. “Verisimilitude,” I say casually, heart pounding sickeningly as I await his reaction to the – um – adjacency.  What were once two are now one, courtesy of a little creative zipping. “We are supposed to be – er – sleeping together.”  I have to nudge forcibly Jack to get him to step into the tent.

I don’t blame him for being such a fraidy cat.  The fact we can stand up in this tent suggests it probably sleeps about twelve, taking into account the Air Force’s usually mean spirited assessment of exactly how many metres squared the average man requires, square or not.  Even I would have to admit the sleeping bag zipped for two is blatant.  A little oasis of snug olive drab adrift in a sea of canvas.  Even Jack can’t misread this signal.

“Sleep?  Don’t think there’s any danger of that,” Jack murmurs so softly I can barely make out the words.  He refuses to look at me.  “With Rayner here, I think we should set a watch.  Turn and turn about.  Just in case.”

Oh no you don’t, Jack O’Neill!  “In case of what?”

“Um –“

Get over it.  I close the gap and lay a hand on his shoulder.  “There’s nothing incriminating whatsoever in that temple, and I’ll have enough data by tonight to be sure if there are additional chambers to worry about.  There is no reason to set a watch.  The worst he could do is let the air out the jeep tyres,” I play up the sarcasm.  I’m not giving him anything he can use to wriggle out of this.

Good thing most of his available blood supply is now pooled in his groin.  I ease my hand over to rest against the warm skin of his neck.  He shivers reflexively, unable to tear his eyes from mine as I move closer.  Lean in.  Looking like he’s reaching into a fire, Jack leans towards me too, lips parting.  Kiss.  He’s going to kiss me.  Right now.  Oh God – GOD! JACK!  Get BACK here!

“Wuss!” I snarl, “What in hell do I have to DO?” I grab a fistful of T-shirt before he gets more than two hasty steps away from me, insinuate my foot between his ankles and hook his leg out from under him as I throw my not inconsiderable weight at him.  Another move I’m happy to say he only has himself to blame for.  Jack tumbles bonelessly to the ground beneath me, instinctively relaxing.  He’s a credit to his Black Ops training.  Technically, he’s already gotten me into bed: he landed on the sleeping bag.  Before he can utter a word of protest or denial, I fuse my lips to his in a stormy, LIVID kiss that pins him flat under the onslaught until I’m good and ready to let go.

“Get it!” I snarl breathlessly, backing off a couple of inches.

“Got it,” Jack confirms equally breathlessly.

“GOOD!”  I bite his lip for emphasis, making him yelp.

He’s also stuttering with suppressed laughter, eyes velvety warm.  Someone is growling.  Oh.  It’s me.  I’m  - um - growling.

Then squawking as his arms lock ruthlessly around the small of my back, pulling me close, his eyes darkening, glittering with too-long suppressed desire.  I feel the ardent heat of Jack’s arousal pressed against me as he moves his hips against mine, one long leg lying heavy across my butt, crushing me to him.  Satisfied I’m going nowhere, Jack pulls off my glasses and raises his hands to cup my face, pulling me into a passionate kiss, his tongue thrusting deep into my mouth, gentling as I flinch back reflexively from the overwhelming intimacy.  Stroking now, his tongue sliding sensuously over mine, under, teasing, flicking at the tip.  Diving deep again.  Groaning with pleasure as he fervently tastes and explores every inch of my mouth, finally easing back, both of us panting for breath.  Sucking my tongue gently into his mouth, inviting me to share, to taste him.

Now?  Now I have to go and get nervous.  Where he was all confident passion, I’m hesitance.  Willing but – nervous.  Unmistakeably so.  Jack gentles his response even more; a sweetness to the kiss now, generous, warming.  Encouraging.  I gain in confidence but feel woefully inadequate.  Comparisons are truly odious.  Finally I have to release him, raise my head and face him.

I see a tender warmth in Jack’s eyes, a tiny, almost shy smile playing about his lips.  A look I’ve seen on his face before, when we rescued Teal’c and Jack from Apophis’ death glider, and his brush with death in lowered his guard for a few moments.  His hand cradles my head as he caresses his forehead against mine.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“H – hey.”

“I’m not putting out until you tell me you love me,” he teases, heaving beneath me and rolling us onto our sides, wrapping himself around me.

“Steven,” I begin.

“Screw him.  Worst he can do is slash the tires and sit on a dune eating his heart out, so stop avoiding the issue, Daniel,” Jack orders crisply.  His fingers seem to be magnetically attracted to my hair, just like his tongue is attracted to – to –- o-oh.  “If it helps at all,” Jack pauses in his assault on a hitherto unsuspected erogenous zone behind my ear, “I’M in love with YOU.” He holds my gaze.  My rapidly blurring gaze.  Oh no, NOT again.  Overflowing here.  Tears trailing down my cheek.  Sniffing for God’s sake.  I could DIE.  I shoot Jack an utterly embarrassed look from under my lashes.

“God,” he groans wrenchingly, “You’re KILLING me!  Do you have ANY idea how sexy that is?  Trying to be a gentleman, here!” His thumb gently brushes my lashes clear. He shoots ME an embarrassed look.  “Wanted to lick them off,” he admits gruffly.

“I’ve been waiting forever for you to admit that,” I say simply.  “I love you too.”

Jack’s pleasure falters as his face stills.  “Admit?” he asks carefully.

“I’ve known since you returned from Edora.”

Jack shudders away from it, unable to think of a word to say, condemned by his own judgement. “God,” he whispers.

“Some days I’ve known you loved me,” I amend.  “Others --  I’ve seen you watching me, knew what you wanted from me but I’ve never been sure of why.  Until now,” I say gently.  “I – HOPED –- hoped you could make that leap of faith, and now you have.” I smile tentatively.

“I can’t undo the past, Daniel,” Jack says grimly.

“I don’t ask you to!”

“All I can do is show you I’m HERE, I’m WITH you.  I do love you.  I’m ashamed I fought so hard and so long against it, but please believe me, Daniel.  I admitted it to myself BEFORE we came here.  I was just waiting for the perfect time to tell you,” Jack’s fervent embrace speaks volumes of remorse and determination.

“Th – there’ll never BE a perf – Jack! Breathe –“

“Hmm?”

“Need to!”

“Oh! Shit.  Sorry, Danny,” Jack runs agitated hands over me.

“There’ll never be a perfect time.  I finally worked that out.  I decided to – um – I – “

Jack goes still again.  “KILL me!  You sneaky little sonovabitch, you’ve been winding me up on PURPOSE!”

“It worked too,” I gloat, grinning.  “And I still had to throw myself at you.”

“Shoulda dumped you on your delectable little butt.  HARD,” Jack says unconvincingly.  As soon as his mind goes there, his hand follows.  Then the other one joins in enthusiastically.  Squeezing, kneading, stroking.  Moaning – me – smug – him – pinching – me – yelping – him – soothing better.  “God, God, you are so damn HOT.  Lead me not into temptation, kid.”

My hand freezes on its careful exploration of the contours of Jack’s back.  “Wh – what?”

“Daniel, one SHIT HOT kiss apart, can you honestly say you’re ready to make love with me?  ‘Cause I have to say I don’t think you are.  I got some experience long story long time ago not telling so don’t ask okay,” Jack rattles through at top speed, then takes a deep relieved breath, apparently reading my silence as acquiescence.  He’s mistaken.  I’ll get it out of him sooner or later.  “And I’m telling you there’s no rush.  Love ya, not gonna quit on you now, ya know?  So don’t get your hopes up.  Gonna haunt you forever,” he chuckles malevolently.

He’s – he is right.  I’m not ready for intimacy.  I’ve been celibate since Sha’uri was taken from me, and making love with Jack is fraught with so many tangled emotions right now I know it would be wrong for me.  Too soon.  “You want to,” I say doubtfully.

“Of course I do.  I’ve wanted it so badly for so long I’ve scared the shit out of you about it,” Jack says flatly.  “You can’t make the leap from me not wanting to get within ten feet of you for your own safety to me being buried inside you,” Jack laughs a little as the colour floods my cheeks, “in one day.  Right now, I’ll settle for you being COMFORTABLE with me touching you.”

“And vice versa,” I say eagerly.

“You betcha!” Jack’s eyes glitter. “Let’s see how far we can push the kissing envelope tonight.  Maybe graduate to a little skin,” he tempts.

I pull up my shirt and unbutton rapidly, “A little something on account,” I suggest hopefully.

Jack’s eager hand hesitates as he looks to me for permission, sending his reverent fingers dancing over my abdomen when I nod.  Quite vigorously, I’m ashamed to say.  He massages deeply into my muscles, the steady, rhythmic pressure sending a shock of erotic pleasure clear through me.  I – arch.  Involuntarily.  Jack swallows with obvious effort.

 

* * *

JACK

Why is it every single time I agonise over Daniel he blithely takes me out the knees with a head on attack I just don’t see coming?  I could live with him forever and still never know all of him.  He finessed me.  Manoeuvred me into the perfect position from which to take me out.  Maybe I should worry about the rocks and let him lead the team for a while?

Talk about the past is another country.  There’s a pitch of excitement and denial here I haven’t felt for closing in on thirty years.  God but he’s sweet.  Sweet, sensuous, scared to death.  Scared I want him, scared if I don’t have him I’ll drop him like a hot brick.  Weaved one hell of a tangled web here.

He knew I wanted him, and now he knows I love him.  I look at his eager face and into anxious eyes.  Correction.  He’s heard me tell him I love him.  I think I’ve got a long way to go before he believes me.  I WANT Daniel, and Christ, but he knows it.  Has known it all along.  For all he knew, he was risking everything for a quick fuck.  NOT gonna happen.  No way.  When we make love he is going to KNOW I love him.  I’ve hurt him.  He can’t disguise the pain, or his fear, and I can’t deny I’m the cause of it.

Daniel is putting his faith in ME, and I know whatever it takes, whatever it costs me, I can’t let him down again.  He’s stronger than he ever was, yet he’s more vulnerable to me than he’s been to another living soul.  He surrendered up to me the power I have over him, and I abused it.  I abused his trust, yet still he offers it up to me.  I can’t undo the past, but I can and will do everything I can to prove to him I’m with him NOW.

“So beautiful,” I admire, making him blush.  He’s lucky I’m not some young stud like loverboy out there.  I’ve got some stamina, some self-control.  Some patience.  Gonna need every single scrap.  Daniel is my downfall, I’ve known that from the moment I realised I was in love with him.  From his perspective, he’s all gentle persuasion.  From mine, he’s force majeure, irresistible, irrefutable.

The FEEL of him beneath my hands.  Satiny skin smooth and subtly ridged with muscle.  Remember, O’Neill.  Just his stomach.  Gentle massage, ease away some of that tension.  That’s all.  Hands not wandering up or down.  Got expectations to live up to here.  Trust to repay.  Stick with soothing.  Ignore him arching into your touch, ignore the moaning.  Ignore his fingers slipping under your T-shirt, carefully tracing every inch of your spine.  Touching.  Holding.

Concentrate on making HIM feel good, not you.  He’s not ready and you know it.  Don’t be the selfish bastard you’ve been so far.

Daniel snatches me to him for one last exuberant kiss, fends off my hands, which seem to have developed a decided will of their own, and emphatically buttons his shirt.  He has to redo a few buttons because my hands won’t get with the programme, but the teasing makes him chuckle delightedly.

I need to hold onto him for a little while longer, hug him close to me.  “Okay?” I ask gently, smoothing back the soft wisps of hair from his brow.

He leans back a little and smiles, candid gaze not wavering from mine.  “Better,” he confides shyly.  “Looking forward to tonight.  Can’t wait to see how ‘gentlemanly’ you can manage to be with me – um – “ Eyes very definitely twinkling now.

“Winding me up?” I say dryly.  He hasn’t shared his bed since he lost Sha’uri.  “I happen to like the idea of having you right where I can keep an eye on you.  In fact, I have every intention of sleeping with you as often as possible when we get home.”  I have to grin as Daniel’s naughtiness shades into apprehension.  “SLEEP, I said.”

“And kissing?” Daniel’s eyes go soulful on me.

I lean in close.  “Tonight,” I whisper. Holding is great, kissing is better.  I think it will cause me actual physical pain to have to stop at that, and I also think I’ll have a lot of jerking off in my future.  So I CAN stop at that.  I don’t think Daniel has ANY idea how sexy or desirable he is.  That’s a learning curve it will be my pleasure to mentor him through.  “Up and at ’em, kid,” I smack his butt, earning a scowl as we untangle ourselves reluctantly, then scramble up and out of the tent.  Daniel stands right in front of me, taking my hand in his.

“Ja—ack?”

Uh oh. “DAN-iel?”

“I think you should,” wide, ingenuous eyes fix themselves on mine, “leave Steven to me.”

I smile and rest my hand at his waist.  Lean in.  “No.”

“Oh.”  Daniel’s index finger gently caresses my palm.  “Steven requires tactful handling.”

“Are you implying I’m not tactful?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”  My hand eases around and gently caresses his back.  “I’m not the one who knocked Rayner on his ass. For which I’m very proud of you, kid.”

“No, you’re the one who called him a plagiarist and got him so riled I had to – um – dissuade him from - ”

“Knocking you on YOUR ass,” I snap, ignoring irrelevancies like culpability.  “A position I’ve no doubt he’s wanted to see you in for a while.”

“That isn’t Steven’s style,” Daniel says soothingly.

“He’s a lover, not a fighter, that what you’re trying to tell me?”  I say witheringly.  Hel-lo?  Rayner?  Jealous?  Hots? Gorgeous yet stunningly naïve rival with big blue eyes?  Big empty tomb?  Compute?  No.  Guess not.  “Allow me to elaborate.  He would like to see you on your back while he FEELS your ass!”

“Jack, are you JEALOUS?”

After a slightly uncertain look, if anything, Daniel seems rather pleased by the idea.  I think he thinks it’s – cute.

“Of STEVEN?”

The sheer incredulity in Daniel’s voice makes me grin despite myself.  “I’m not jealous at all, Daniel.  You can spend time alone with anybody you want,” I say sweetly as his face falls a little, “just so long as I vet the applicants, you wear one of those plaid shirts in a colour that doesn’t bring out your eyes, I choose the public venue and drop you off, you observe the two feet ‘no physical contact’ exclusion zone and stick with formal salutations.  Oh, and I pick you up again at curfew.” I turn Daniel around and steer him gently down the dune while he’s still striving for a response.  “Re the venue?  No candles, no flowers, no ambience.  If it’s a movie, you sit one seat over.” He’s laughing, which is sweet, and proves I’m distracting him just fine.  I’ll be inside before he knows it.  “No-o.  On second thoughts, sit in the row behind.  Museums and lectures are okay,” I add by way of softening the blow. “You don’t go anywhere or do anything that would involve you removing items of clothing.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you’re obsessive, possessive and jealous on a GOOD day?” Daniel seeks clarification.

“Nasty,” I agree happily, angling us obliquely at the tomb entrance.  “Special forces trained too, so no sneaking around when you think I’m not looking.”

“Because you’re always looking,” Daniel muses thoughtfully.  “I’m looking too, Jack.  Nice try, sneaking us up to the tomb entrance.  I still want you to leave Steven to me.”

“I won’t say a word to him, I promise.”

“You promise?”

I do my best to look trustworthy.  My best shot cranks up the level of suspicion to rampant paranoia.  Daniel heaves a heart-rending sigh as we head down the steps to the main chamber.

“This is such a bad idea.”

“Don’t worry, Daniel.  I’ve got your six.”

“You certainly have,” Daniel agrees.  “Could we make that ‘got’ figurative, not literal?”

“Huh?”  I know what he means.

“Get your hand off my ass, Jack.”

Rayner is over by the altar deal making free with Daniel’s files.  He hears that comment and flinches.  That’s one to me and I haven’t said a word to him yet.

“Therapy.”

“I’m sorry?” Daniel looks blank.

“Daniel, how could you?” I give him my best wounded look.  “How can I work on overcoming my haphephobia if you won’t let me touch you?”  Three months of enforced Latin tuition has to come in handy for something.

Daniel’s outraged eyes promise all kinds of vengeance as I slip my arm comfortably back around his waist and give Rayner hell without saying a word.

“I don’t mind you looking at my field notes,” Daniel tells Rayner sincerely, making him flush and shift uncomfortably.  Another one for our side.  “As you can see from the surveys, there are no subterranean chambers to explore.  The Stewart Expedition removed all artefacts – “

“EXCEPT the ones secreted within the altar, Daniel!” Rayner pounces.

“Those the artefacts Sarah Gardner took?” I ask casually, hating the shock that shudders through Daniel’s slender frame, and tightening my grip so he can’t step away from me without a blatant struggle.  “Bet they’re sitting in some rich guy’s private collection right now.  Must be worth a fortune if she was prepared to fuck over her whole career and kill three people for them.”

That hits home. Hard. The only thing Rayner has admitted to remembering of the attack was that Sarah was the perpetrator.  Osiris hadn’t gotten his hands on the ribbon device at that point, thank God, and had to rely on brute Goa’uld enhanced strength.  Rayner had severe blunt trauma to the head, severe enough to cause short term memory loss.  Still, it’s my job to make certain, to assess the threat he represents and take the appropriate proportional response to neutralise him.

“Sarah wasn’t exactly doing cartwheels when my book made the bestseller list, but I never thought – “ Rayner hesitates.  “Daniel, you know how important academic reputation was to Sarah.  You guys,” he falters awkwardly, ”you fought over it all the time.  Especially when you were breaking up.”  Rayner’s eyes are on me.

“Yes,” is all the response Daniel makes.

He’s pissed as hell with me, don’t need a linguist to translate that.  I know he cared about this woman – still cares – but unfortunately hers was the face Osiris was wearing and I can’t let Daniel’s feelings or my desire to protect him prevent me from ensuring the security of the Stargate programme.  This is the quickest and best way to get that job done.  It’s also the hardest on Daniel.  The fact it’s THIS hard on Rayner is an unexpected gift.  He couldn’t resist the temptation to needle me.  What chance has a ‘middle aged dullard’ of keeping Daniel when a beautiful, clever woman couldn’t?  When a man like Rayner never stood a chance with him?

I’ll check back with Rayner this time tomorrow.  Daniel is bound to have a lot to say about me using him to gather enough information to hang Sarah out to dry.  He can’t argue with the need to shut Rayner down, and he’s learned to accept how pragmatic I am, but he hates the lies. Sarah is actually an innocent victim in all of this.  Even if she’s beyond caring, Daniel isn’t.  He’s tense against my side.  Hates I used him to add the small element of truth that will help this particular lie go a very long way.  Hates I didn’t tell him this was the way I was planning to go.

“With the black market in antiquities the way it is, there’s not much chance of ever finding those artefacts again, Steven.  You know that,” Daniel backs me up regardless.  “Can you remember any of them clearly?  We can get some sketches drawn up, run them through the usual channels.”

“I only looked at it for moments, Daniel.  I’m real fuzzy on the detail.  There’s not enough there for a sketch.  Sarah – I was by the altar,” he turns and gestures vaguely.  “Used the key – unlocked -  Sarah came up from behind as I was examining an ornate gold –- gauntlet is the best way I can describe it.”

The ribbon device.

“Worth someone’s career?” I pursue my role as resident philistine.

Rayner forgets his attitude for a moment and nods sombrely.  “Worth the lives of three people to Sarah.”

“Including Professor Jordan’s,” Daniel says sadly.  “There’s nothing to stop us working together to complete the site survey, Steven.”  Daniel slips away from me and over to Rayner’s side.

“Like old times,” Rayner says softly, holding Daniel’s gaze.

“Don’t mind me,” I say chattily.

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Rayner snaps. “It’s obvious YOU’RE the reason Daniel hasn’t published a paper in five years.  It’s damned obvious your interest is in Daniel rather than archaeology.  Dilettante?  I can think of another name for it,” he sneers.

“I can think of several, and if you say any of them I’ll happily shove them back down your throat,” I smile pleasantly.

“Jack.” Daniel warns.  “Steven.  Stop being so infantile.  Let’s try to stay focused on the – “

“What exactly do you DO, ‘Jack’?” Rayner demands.

“Pilot.  Retired.”

“Air Force, right?”  Rayner nods, certain now.  Guy is not dumb.  “One of those repressed jarhead robots – “

Daniel snorts and refuses to meet my eye.

“Daniel hit rock bottom professionally and emotionally and there you were.”

There’s a lot of suppressed sniggering from Daniel.

“Daniel!”

“And I just – stayed there,” Daniel murmurs whimsically. “Insecure, jealous – repressed.  Obsessive.  Possessive.”

“Nasty,” I supply with relish.

“Nasty,” Daniel nods emphatically.  “You’ve got no idea what he’s like.  Never letting me out of his sight.  Ordering me around all day every day,” Daniel paints a vivid picture of his complete emotional subjugation for Rayner.

“I’m only thinking of you, Danny.  You need someone to take care of you.  Doesn’t he?” I appeal to Rayner abruptly.

Rayner - unfortunately for him - agrees.  He just doesn’t think I’m the man for the job.

“You never do what you’re told anyway,” I grumble to Daniel.  “And what about YOU?  Dragging me off to the ends of the – Earth – to look at big ‘rocks’.”

“Features,” Daniel corrects.

“And little ‘rocks’.”

“Artefacts.”

“AND squiggles, curly things, spiky things, picture things.”

“Amongst others, Linear B, Cuneiform, Phoenician, hieroglyphs.”

“Spiky things?” I query.

“Runes,” Daniel says repressively.

“And ya talk incessantly,” I’m getting a good head of steam going.  Rayner looks dazed.  I almost feel sorry for him.  Almost.  Daniel and I have HISTORY.  “About rumours, lies, fairytales,” I suggest provocatively.

“SEE!” Daniel picks up on my cue, and raises indignant hands to the high heavens.  “You see what I have to put up with?  Mythology is one of the primary motivations for cultural development!  Symbolic anthropology studies the ways in which people understand and interpret their surroundings as well as the actions and utterances of the other members of their society. These interpretations form a shared cultural system of meaning deciphered by interpreting key symbols and rituals.  Traditionally symbolic anthropology has focused on religion, cosmology, ritual activity, and expressive customs such as MYTHOLOGY and - ”

“Yadda,” I interrupt fondly.  Daniel shoots me a thwarted look and subsides.  “Showtime?” I ask hopefully.

“Showtime?”  Daniel parrots cautiously.

“Expressive custom.”  I get it!  “HOCKEY!” I gloat.  “Hockey is CULTURAL so you can just quit your whining come game time.  AND symbolically anthropological.  Actions – the game -  utterances – plenty of those, most of which you’re too young to hear  – key symbols - teams - AND rituals – beer and pizza!” I go out on a high note.  Almost involuntarily, Daniel and Rayner step closer together, both archaeologists in temporary alliance as they stare in disbelief at the philistine – i.e. me - for a moment.  “Sore losers,” I say smugly.

“You actually listen to me?” Daniel is incredulous.

“Unnerving, isn’t it?” I smirk at him.  “Now you’ll be waiting – wondering – worrying.  Just what ELSE have I been paying attention to?” I try and hope that comes off as sinister.  “And stop avoiding it.  Go on.  Admit it.”

Daniel is a dear and generous soul, and he proves it yet again.  His sweet, mischievous smile quirks across his lips.  “For cryin’ out loud.  Have it your way, Jack.  Showtime and hockey are classic examples of modern cultural symbolism.”  Daniel senses I want more as I wait expectantly.    He sighs.  “I’ll even buy the pizza for the next game.”

He hasn’t been over for a game in months.  I brighten up.  That’s a good sign.  He must have forgiven me for taking the path of least resistance yet again.  “Cool!”

Daniel grins and beckons Steven to join him down in the depths of the tomb.  Guess it’s time we started with the radar thingy again.  I resume my seat and watch.

Rayner gets the message.  He isn’t happy, but he gets it.  Daniel and I are together.  Daniel isn’t gracing me with his presence in return for underwriting his research.  I bicker with Daniel like I used to bicker with Sara, and that’s on a good day.  Daniel and I do come off as a couple, most of the time and to most people.  I only realised this after Ferretti got blindingly drunk during the play-offs a year or so back and started rambling on about sparkage.  Turned out half the base thought Daniel and I were together way back when.  I never said a word to Daniel.  He would have died.  Fortunately, Ferretti didn’t remember a damn thing either, otherwise I would’ve had to help him die.

It kinda reassures me re the logistics of pursuing a relationship with Daniel, if the people round us have seen it when there’s been nothing – well, very little – to see, and don’t seem to have given a shit.  Now there will be something to see it shouldn’t make any difference.  I won’t be filling any of those people in on just how long it took me to clue in.  I make it a rule never to disappoint people unnecessarily, and besides, I have a reputation to consider.

Even Hammond accepts I’m too close to my team.  It’s just the way things are, and it works for us.  We’ve not been so close recently, and we’ve been off our game most the year.  Not enough that anyone off the team would notice, not enough that anyone on the team would comment, but still – off.  Edgy.  The only members of SG-1 getting along just fine and dandy have been Daniel and Teal’c.  They’re a lot closer than they used to be.  A lot.  Not that it’s a cause for concern.  It isn’t.  Not at all.  Now Daniel and I have reached an understanding, he’ll come to me. Like he’s supposed to.  Nothing to stop them being friends.  Nothing at all.  They’re close.  Not – too - close.

Right.

 

* * *

DANIEL

I glance behind me.  Jack is making full use of the one indulgence he allowed himself for this impromptu vacation, a gift I bought for him back in the days when our friendship was simple.  As simple as it ever has been.  He loves music so much, I was certain he’d find some use for the portable CD player.  It goes up onto his observation platform with him at night, and it’s keeping him out of mischief here.  The chances of Jack leaving me alone with a man he dislikes, one whom he suspects of having an ‘interest’ in me, are somewhere between slim to none.

Steven is losing himself in the slow, orderly process of systematically sweeping the chamber floor.  He’s thoroughly reviewed my findings from the other chamber sweeps and is reluctantly accepting there is nothing here but what we’ve seen.  I can’t deny I would have liked to find more evidence of the Goa’uld occupation of Earth, but I also can’t deny that I could comfortably trade up the thrill of such a find for peace of mind.  George wants an assurance the SGC is safe from exposure.  Another two chambers to sweep with GPR and I’ll be able to give it.

There is something innately inspiring about the practice of my profession.  The calm, orderly science of excavation occupies the body as surely as it frees the mind.  I love Jack dearly, but he never sees how digging in the dirt sets me flying as high as any machine can take him.

Steven understands.  He knows how lost I can get in a past I can hold in my hand and see in my mind.  Neither he nor Sarah could pull me out of that empathy, that stream of consciousness, and as hard as they fought, they couldn’t compel me to compromise my beliefs.  Steven watched Jack pull me back with one word.  Steven understands what I do, but he’s never seen me for who I am.  He’s never understood ME.

Jack is the exact opposite to Steven.  He knows me through and through, understands me in a way no one ever has before.  He just doesn’t get what I do.  Or why I do it.  He doesn’t understand my connection with the past.  As far as Jack is concerned it’s just part and parcel of ‘me’.  A quirk  - well, obsession - he amiably tolerates unless he feels it’s compromising my safety or interfering with accomplishing our mission objectives.  His first instinct is to protect those he is responsible for, an instinct more powerful than any rule or regulation.

Jack is a very unusual Air Force officer.  As someone who has often been on the outside looking in, I think Jack is pretty much the swiftest thing the SGC has.  I know Jack judges himself to be the most replaceable member of SG-1, but that’s simplistic.  The team doesn’t function without ALL of us.  We tried with Colonel Makepeace in Jack’s place and it was an unmitigated disaster.  I admit the circumstances were far from ideal, given the nature of Jack’s abrupt departure from the SGC and our lives, but that short time with Robert Makepeace was enough to show me just how rigid the military mind set can truly be.

Jack has never lost his individuality, nor his ability to see and appreciate the individuality of others.  He draws the best from each of us, something I never truly appreciated until I glimpsed the alternative.  We disagree like crazy, but it’s never been personal.  Not until Jack fell in love with me, and then he took EVERYTHING personally.  I have some hope now we can get our professional relationship back on an even keel.  I can live with Jack’s worst being a little ignorant and condescending, just as he can live with my worst being a little – well, okay, from his perspective, a lot – flaky.

I suspect this shift in our relationship is going to necessitate a very steep learning curve for both of us, given how distant we’ve become.  I’m still annoyed Jack used Sarah to shift the blame this way.  I can accept the necessity, but the fact he didn’t tell me argues a fundamental lack of trust at worst, an inability to communicate at best.  Neither is acceptable.

The confusion and mass of conflicting, inchoate desires battering us both this past year have left us unable to carry a conversation.  Jack is being selfless about not pushing for physical intimacy, but I have to wonder how selfless he’s going to be when he realises that lovers have conversations, even if one lover is a pissy over-protective military type and the other is a somewhat ‘eccentric’ and loquacious scholar.  We have to re-learn being comfortable with one another before we can consider being intimate.  I wonder if he can lower his defences enough, allow me close enough.  Intimacy isn’t just physical, it’s not just sex.  We have to learn to be in one another’s space in a way I suspect neither of us has experienced before, not with another man.

We’re going to have to learn to compromise and do things together.  As a couple.  I’m going to have to learn not to glaze over when Jack lives for his hockey, just as he is going to have to dig deep into his reserves of courage and endurance to survive museum visits and lectures.  I’ll have to eat Chinese takeout and he’ll have to learn to appreciate the finer points of French cuisine.  I’ll listen to opera, Billy Joel and Sting – Jack is nothing if not eclectic – and he’ll listen to me playing Chopin or Debussy.  I will drink one beer to be sociable; out of courtesy to me, before sitting he will first look for fragile items.  I sleep on the left side of the bed.  I can only sleep on the left side.  I hope that’s not an insurmountable problem.  We can’t be fighting over that every night, otherwise one of us will be sleeping on the left side of an entirely different bed in a residence across town.  Jack likes a brisk morning shower, I like a long leisurely bath in the evening, preferably with candles, red wine and an article from ‘Archaeological Dialogues’.  ‘The Archaeology of Cultural Landscapes’ was a particularly fascinating –

“Daniel?”

“Hmm?” Interpreting landscapes through cultural perception and experience, it has such resonance for our exploration of alien landscapes and cultures, anchoring our past experiences in –

“Have you considered dumping Jumping Jack Flash here and coming back to the Institute where you belong?” Steven challenges out of the blue.

I freeze and glance cautiously behind me.  ‘Jumping Jack Flash’ is the poster boy for threat assessment.  The silence behind me becomes VERY crowded, weighted down beneath Jack’s focused disapproval.

“Where the hell do you get off, deciding where Daniel ‘belongs’?” Jack demands aggressively.  “He ‘belongs’ with ME.  Get over it.”

On the other hand, Jack has never claimed to be the poster boy for logic.  Or for tact.

“I’ll vouch for you,” Steven affixes me with earnest – hungry – eyes.

Oh dear.

“Slipping right into the good Professor’s parking spot are we?” Jack is withering.

“I have been offered tenure, yes,” Steven confirms stiffly.  “It puts me into a position where I can use my influence on Daniel’s behalf.”

“I don’t require anyone to use their ‘influence’ on my behalf,” I say calmly.  “I’m happy doing what I do.”

“You’re beyond the extreme fringe, Daniel.  The New Age Atlantis cultists have more credibility with the profession than you do right now.  In fact, they’ve discussed your work ad nauseum.  There’s a damn website out there with your name on it.”

Touché.  That’s information I could happily have lived without.  One of the epithets tossed at me during my swansong symposium – which Steven attended and at which he did nothing to defend me, lest I forget – was a suggestion men from Atlantis built the Pyramids.

“Website?”  Jack queries gently, sitting up straight, an evil, anticipatory grin getting away from him.  “Chatroom?” he asks innocently, refusing to meet my eyes.

I won’t bet a dime the poor innocent souls won’t be hearing from “Dr Dweeb” or “Plant Boy” the minute Jack gets back to civilisation.  He’ll have some plausible story about security risks and he’ll flame them on SGC time and from an SGC computer too.  Jack has gotten clued in to the glories of the World Wide Web since our run in with Martin, the most paranoid alien in this or indeed any other galaxy, and even moreso since Maybourne blithely pointed out the NID are running their covert operative cells via websites and chatrooms.

I have a slight suspicion Jack thinks he’s not only out of touch with the Special Ops ‘twilight zone’ but – um – ‘mellowing’ more than he’d ever suspected.  He’s gotten used to accomplishing something in our missions, to helping people, not hurting them.  He made a deal with the devil – two devils if you include Kinsey - to protect George’s family and the future of SG-1 and the SGC.  It hit him harder than he’s ever been prepared to say.  We – we didn’t talk or anything, other than the ‘sit reps’ he phoned in to me during his mad dash around the country in Maybourne’s dubious company, and that was only because he didn’t want to compromise Sam.  Perhaps – He might talk about it now.  If he wants to.

I’m not sure what he sees in my face, but he smiles suddenly, eyes lighting.  Then he winks.  Oh boy.  He’s definitely going to be surfing in the direction of the cultists first chance he gets.  They won’t know what hit them.  I glare at him, to no good effect.  Jack is irrepressible.  How could I succeed where the best and the brightest of the Air Force have failed?

I turn again to Steven, impatiently awaiting an answer from me he can understand.  “You’re offering me a job as your research assistant?” I ask.

He gives me an eager look.  “I can verify that your theories were correct, Daniel.  The Pharaohs of the IVth Dynasty did NOT build the pyramids.  We can apply for a research grant, start surveying the Old Kingdom sites.  The Step Pyramid Complex of Djoser –“

“At Saqqara,” I interpose for Jack’s benefit.  “Djoser’s Step Pyramid is generally considered to be the first tomb in Egypt built entirely of stone.  I discussed the origins of the Cheops Pyramid at Giza in my last public symposium, Jack, and there is no more evidence of my theories now than there was five years ago.  Steven destroyed all traces of the carbon dating tests that would have vindicated my research, then Sarah destroyed the back-up.  Correct?” I challenge Steven abruptly.  I don’t need his guilty flush to confirm what I already know.  “If you had access to the carbon dating analysis, you wouldn’t be here looking for corroboratory evidence or trying to inveigle me onto a research team YOU will control in order to exploit my research on writing systems.”  I turn again to Jack.  “I proved there was a fully developed writing system in place during the first two Dynasties, Jack, far earlier than had ever been imagined.  Ground breaking stuff.  It  - um – got lost in the general mêlée of quips over Martians and men from Atlantis.”

Jack cringes and refuses to embarrass me with pointless sympathy.

“Relative dating of the writing system to the first two Dynasties, taken in conjunction with the absolute dating of the gold amulet from the carbon dating analysis – which proved the amulet was over ten thousand years old – would vindicate my research and invalidate everything Egyptologists have accepted as proven fact since excavations began.”

Jack takes a moment to absorb the enormity – relatively speaking - of what I’ve just told him, then he eyes Steven contemptuously.  “No hidden agenda, huh?  What?  The Porsche isn’t enough for ya?  You wanna be on Letterman?  You wanna move to Beverley Hills?  ‘The guy who changed the face of Egyptology’.”  Jack shakes his head wearily.  “You are some piece of work.”

“I have Daniel’s BEST interests at heart!” Steven passionately refutes Jack. “I’m not looking to steal the credit for Daniel’s work, but to share in the research.”

“Bull,” Jack snaps.  “You’d be the guy in charge, the Professor, the guy with tenure, right?  What does Daniel get?  A goddamn footnote?”

“This is Daniel’s LAST chance to save his reputation and regain his rightful place in the profession,” Steven snarls.

“Just so long as his ‘rightful’ place is some place BEHIND you, huh?” Jack is having none of it.

“The final pertinent factor is Steven’s interest in my unpublished research from the past five years,” I suggest quietly.  “He’s assuming I’ve found additional evidence to corroborate my research.  That being the case, Steven, can you explain exactly why it is I’m STILL out beyond the extreme fringe of the profession, ‘slumming’ it with Jumping Jack Flash here?” I nod to Jack.

“Thank you,” Jack drips sarcasm.  “The suggestion being if you’d managed to find one single piece of evidence that would get you outta my lowlife dilettante clutches, you’d have gotten outta them?”  He manages offended hauteur beautifully, hunching a hurt shoulder at me.  “Really, thank you SO much for that.  Makes me feel so much better.”

Jack will never make an archaeologist but he’s one hell of a tactician.  I don’t even try to disguise my grin as Jack milks his wounded dignity for all it’s worth and Steven falls for it hook, line and sinker.  I feel for Steven, truly I do.  My status, my reputation – it means nothing compared to the WORK.  I’ve never been ambitious, other than to be sure I’m doing the best work that I can.  I’m the only judge I need, I don’t require external validation.  Steven is judging me by his standard and as always I fall short of the mark.  In my place, he wouldn’t think Jack – the ‘middle-aged dullard’ - was worth trading my career for.  He certainly wouldn’t do it, and he can’t conceive how I can consider the trade worthwhile.

I don’t want to see Steven expose more of himself to us than he already has.  He’s not the only one seeing things clearly for the first time.  This man was once my friend, or so I thought.  I excused his lack of support, just as I excused Sarah’s.  Understood they had to stand apart from me, had to protect their careers and reputations. I was wrong.  Jack or Sam or Teal’c would have stood by my side and spit in the eye of anyone who treated me the way Steven and Sarah did.

“I’m sorry, Steven.  I can’t and don’t accept your offer.  I have nothing materially to add to the body of research.  I have no more proof of my theories now than I ever have.  I can’t help you.  If you want to find your own spot out beyond the extreme fringe, go right ahead and pursue this.  Even a used Porsche will fetch enough to fund a one man dig for a few months, after which – “

“You’ll have to find your own low life repressed jarhead robot dilettante,” Jack’s eyes sparkle as he bites off every insulting syllable with relish.  He looks Steven up and down and shrugs lightly.  Dismissively. “So if there’s nothing else we can help you with?” Jack rises smoothly to his feet, and strolls suggestively to the steps, an eloquent hand urging Steven to make like a tree.  Soon as.

Steven is down, but definitely not out.  He doesn’t budge.

Jack sighs.  “Quittin’ time, Daniel.  I’m taking you out to dinner.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere they don’t eat out of cans,” Jack says cheerfully, heading purposefully over to me.  “Speaking of which, help yourself, Rayner.  We got macaroni and cheese.”

“Don’t let the taste fool you,” I call as Jack takes my hand in a firm grip and tows me off towards the stairs in what he fondly imagines to be a masterful fashion, “It’s NOT chicken.  Bye.”

“Whatever,” Jack drawls laconically.  Could not be less interested in Steven’s woes.  Could not make his complete disinterest any more obvious.

He reluctantly releases me when we reach the sunlit upper chamber.  I enjoy the simple pleasure of being allowed to be so close to him again as we walk side by side, arms brushing.

“Jack?  Were you serious about going out to dinner, or was that just a line?” I ask curiously.

“Is there somewhere we can actually go?” Jack cheers right up.

“This is Abydos, Jack.  We’re only a short drive from the Nile and Dendera.  That’s Hathor’s old stamping ground,” I add dryly.

“Bitch,” Jack snaps reflexively, scowling and easing just a little closer.  Oh Lord.  Is he – he’s not going all protective on me, is he?  Life is unnerving enough at the moment.  I don’t need Jack thinking he has to gallantly shield me from a stiff breeze, just because we’re – we’re – y’know.  That is to say, we will be – y’know.

“Sure you don’t want to go Dutch?” I enquire innocently, trying to keep a straight face.  Although I have to admit that is a fair point.  “What is the correct etiquette for two men – well – dating?”

“How should I know?” Jack grins.  “I haven’t dated in – must be – oh, close to fifteen years, and I’ve never taken a man out to dinner in my life.”

“We’ve been out to dinner before, Jack.”

“We’ve gone out together,” Jack corrects, looking and sounding slightly embarrassed, “This is the first time I’m taking you out to dinner.”

I see.  For Jack there is a distinct difference between the two.  He’ll die on the spot if I tell him just how sweet I think that is.  I will also refrain from any comments on him being somewhat old-fashioned in his attitude.  I’d never suspected that Jack was such a gentleman.

“I’m doing the best I can, Daniel.  I never expected to hit forty five and suddenly acquire a lover, let alone – “ Jack stumbles over whatever he was about to say and looks a little conscious as he shoots me a sidelong glance.

“Let alone?”  One like me?  I know he’s bored by most of what I do and say.  “I can be more sociable,” I can’t quite cover my anxiety.  “I know I’ve gotten into the habit of working at home as much as I do on base, but I’m not – it’s what I do, it’s not me.  I won’t spend all my time with my nose in a book or a journal, or – I mean, we can do stuff.  I want to go out and – I want to be with you,“ I mutter, glad our emergence into the late afternoon sunlight has Jack blinking furiously too.  I think I’m blushing again.  This is so awkward.

“Why shouldn’t you read if you want to?” Jack is surprised.  “Gives me time to do my own thing without worrying you’re bored out of your skull.”

“You think I think you’re boring?” I ask cautiously.  “That’s ridiculous.”

“You hate hockey, beer and ER,” Jack contradicts as we scramble into the jeep.  “You haven’t bothered to come over to the house for months.”

“I came over to spend time with you, but you -” I answer unthinkingly.  “Sorry!” I gasp, conscience stricken, “I’m sorry, Jack.  I didn’t mean that the way it – “

“Don’t fret it,” he assures me, quietly.  “I told you, I can’t change the past.”

“Do you think I’m boring?”

“You?  No,” Jack smiles, eyes softening.  “And I happen to think you’re sociable enough, given most of the stuff I’m thinking about doing with you requires us to stay in,” he admits.

“Oh,” I answer intelligently.  “Um – “

Jack’s hand stills mine as I turn the key in the ignition.  “Daniel, have you thought about sex with me at all?  I gotta say, I’m worried that you’re so uncomfortable with the idea.  God knows I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but lovers do share a bed, do make love.”

“I’ve thought, but my imagination usually gives out on me, just when it gets, you know?” it tumbles out in a mad rush.

“Interesting?” Jack queries, unholy amusement dancing in his eyes.

I shrug helplessly.  Have I mentioned how awkward this is?  “You’ve done the interesting stuff before,” I accuse.

“I’m NOT going to tell you, so just forget about it and – er – reap the benefits as we fill in those blanks,” Jack is definitely laughing at me.

I scowl at him.

Jack softens suddenly, disarming me with the warmth of his smile.  “There’s no rush, Daniel.  Not for either of us.  This is meaning of life type stuff, we’ve got to allow for a period of adjustment.”

“For every hockey game there is an equal and opposite informative lecture,” I muse.

“Something like that,” Jack is amused.  “For every blockbuster there is some obscure arthouse movie, probably with subtitles.”

“I sleep on the left side of the bed,” I confess.

“You trying to motivate me?” Jack asks hopefully.  “I don’t heckle at the arty stuff and you – “

“Certainly not,” I quell him.

“You’re cute when you’re haughty,” Jack admires.

“Cute?”

“Pretty,” Jack generously amends, a distinctly provocative gleam in his eyes, “We gettin’ this show on the road or not?”

“Boat,” I correct absently, still brooding over ‘cute’.  And pretty, for goodness sake!  Perhaps it’s time I broke the bad news.  “Your last chance to let me pay for half, Jack,” I warn.

“Nothing doing.”

“Then I sincerely hope you’re not maxed out on your credit cards,” I inform him with relish.  “We can get away with the casual clothes, but only because the food is so expensive.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Jack eyes the desert vista in mild disbelief.

“Dendera, to catch the restaurant.  It does a circuit between Dendera and Luxor.  I think a short – yet hideously expensive – cruise on the Nile beats Air Force field rations hands down for a first date.”

“Romantic.”

“And expensive,” I gloat as I start the engine and the racket swallows any response Jack might have cared to make.  Pretty, indeed!  Any more of that and I’m telling HIM he’s sweet.


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slash: Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Category: Action/Adventure. First Time. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.  
> Season/Spoilers: Season 4. Follows events in The Curse and Double Jeopardy.  
> Synopsis: Daniel and Jack learn - and teach - difficult lessons in honesty and faithfulness.  
> Warnings: Minor character death. Violence. Language. Intense situations.

JACK

“That’s around five hundred dollars, Jack,” Daniel is radiating mischief.

Whoa.  For ONE night?  “Sweet.”  I hope it doesn’t come out sour.

“That does include the table d’ôte dinner, the champagne and the – er –“

“Huge comfortable bed?” I whisper.  Daniel once again finds his feet demanding every scrap of concentration he can muster.  “Do you drink champagne?”

“I hate it more than beer,” Daniel confesses.

I figure Rayner needs some time to absorb the fact Daniel isn’t going to roll over and play the timid little research assistant.  We can stand to leave him alone for one night.  If Daniel wasn’t having fun playing with his tomb I’d say we blow the joint and leave Rayner to stew permanently.  I’m consoling myself with the thought if by some miracle Rayner does find something incriminating while we’re enjoying the high life tonight, I can always shoot him tomorrow.  All I have to do is tell Hammond that Rayner was mean to Daniel and tried to steal him from us.  Justifiable homicide.  No question.

“Hassim, will you trade up the champagne for a nice Burgundy?”

Hassim’s face lights up.  He knows a sucker when he sees one.  He had me from the moment Daniel shyly confessed he’d never actually cruised down the Nile and bravely denied any desire to do so now, all the while staring wistfully at the elegant lines of Hassim’s cruise ship.  It was a choice between the Sun Princess, a quick dinner then a nervous drive back to the camp through the pitch dark dunes - which meant Daniel had to stay stone cold sober - or the Philae and a sunset cruise down the Nile to Luxor, moor overnight and a sunrise cruise back.  Huge comfortable bed, hot and cold running room service and romantic dinner for two served on your own private balcony.  At four times the price.  What the hell, if the worst comes to the worst I can always re-mortgage.  Daniel wants it and I’m in the mood to indulge him.  I hand over my MasterCard with a flourish.  The instant the transaction clears, Hassim summons a minion to tenderly escort us through the maze of stairways and hallways to our suite.

It’s all very tasteful.  Lots of gleaming wood and cream coloured walls, subtle lighting.  Thick carpets.  Looks what it costs, basically.  I can’t help but think of Rayner all alone in a tent with his macaroni and cheese.

“What are you grinning at?” Daniel shoots me a suspicious look from under his lashes.

“Nothing at all,” I reply with calm dignity.  I’ve got a question about etiquette too.  I know they don’t serve food here until around eight o’clock, which means we’ve got a couple of hours to kill.  Just how long do I have to wait between getting Daniel into the room and onto the bed?

Daniel is rattling away in Arabic to our minion, who grins suddenly.  I recognise the grin.  It’s the same one Hassim had when I handed over my credit card.

“How much is this going to cost me?” I ask resignedly, “And what am I paying for?”

“My treat,” Daniel teases, “Fadil is going to help us out, as we’re both a little embarrassed in the clothing department.”

Daniel chuckles as I fail to disguise my disappointment.  I was hoping to embarrass him right out of his clothing after a discreet interval of, say, ten – five - minutes or so.

Fadil stops and unlocks a door, waving us past him and into paradise on Earth.  Daniel blinks and then his smile alone is worth every cent of the five hundred dollars.  Fadil looks up at me, grins and says something to Daniel that makes him chuckle again.

“Shukran,” Daniel says, still smiling as he tips Fadil lavishly.  Fadil smiles too and bustles away to do Daniel’s bidding.

“Yeah.  Thanks. Shukran,” I agree vaguely, still staring at The Smile.

Daniel glances at the French doors leading out to the flower-laden balcony for a moment.  “Bath,” he says firmly.  “Then offensive gloating.”

“Too late,” I grin.  “NICE digs.”  Everything is wine and cream and mahogany and brass and flowers.  “Lead me to the bathroom.  If it doesn’t have a Jacuzzi, I’ll eat this credit card.”

Daniel looks startled but I haul him into the bathroom before he can protest.  I’m perfectly well aware he meant a nice, modest, solo bathing experience.  Now he’s aware he was alone in meaning that.  He seems slightly dazed, so I sit him gently on the side of the bath and thoroughly explore the fixtures and fittings.  A big, roomy corner tub with - “Water jets!  I knew it!  Cool.”

I pull off my T-shirt and Daniel goes seven shades of wine himself.  “Too much?” I ask seriously.  I don’t want to push the envelope too far too soon, I just want to be as close as he feels comfortable for me to be.  I wish I was the shrinking violet type, just a little, because it might ease the pressure on him.

Daniel decides it’s not too much and starts unbuttoning his shirt with the sort of stoic courage he normally displays in shoot-outs.  It’s quite endearing, especially as he’s so busy watching me his fingers keep missing the buttons.  I feel compelled to offer my assistance, which brings me so close Daniel feels compelled to kiss me, paying particular attention to my lower lip, which he bit last time around.  I utilise his complete absorption in the task at hand to sneak him out of his shirt and then hug him to me.  He gasps into my mouth as a fair amount of naked skin collides pleasurably and gulps as he feels my fingers fumbling at his belt.  A moment later he’s clearly decided that isn’t too much either, and returns the compliment.

He also gets ahead of the game.  He seems to have some kind of fixation on my back, those long, elegant fingers exploring every knot steadily downwards, just as he did in the tent.  I embarrass myself completely when I feel his fingers sidling under my loosened jeans and onto my butt.  My agenda isn’t exactly hidden from him.  I think the safest thing is to get into the tub PDQ.  It’s roomy, but not roomy enough to be wicked in.

Daniel starts to laugh as I extract him from the rest of his clothes with ruthless speed and efficiency.  I step back and take a long moment to admire every perfect inch of him, much to his embarrassment.  Just looking.  I’ve got obligations re the touching thing.

“This is – weird,” he sighs.

“About to get weirder, Danny,” I toss out casually as I scramble outta my jeans in record time.  Daniel looks too, particularly at the errant part of my anatomy currently broadcasting just what the sight of his naked body does for me.

“Oh Jeez,” Danny makes an heroic effort and drags his eyes back up to my face, breaking whatever spell he was under.  He snatches up all the clothes and thrusts them at me.  “Fadil will launder them if you put them on the bed.”

When I get back he’s already in the tub, which means I have to sit in front of him.  The moment I’m settled, Daniel wraps his legs around my waist.  His long, lithe, lissom –

“Jack?”

“Hmm?”  I feel warm water pouring down my back, then Daniel’s fingers gently massaging my neck and shoulders.  “Mmm,” I groan, shamelessly leaning into his magical touch.  “Think I’ve died and gone to heaven.  Where’d you learn to do that?”

“What?” he teases, stopping.

“Grr.”

He pours more water and starts working his fingers into the muscles, slow, sure, and steady.  “This?”

“Mmm.”  Every part of me is begging for equal treatment.  Daniel translates the signals perfectly and those talented fingers patiently roam wherever they’re most needed.

“I’m not coming off as some kind of prick-tease, am I?” Daniel tentatively.

“For a smart guy you’re pretty dumb sometimes, Danny,” I say placidly.  “And did I say you could stop with the fingers?”

“We’ll be sharing that bed – “

“Soon as we stop sharing this bath,” I interrupt. “Which is purely about water conservation, you understand.”

“You use that line often?”

“All the time.  Works like a charm on susceptible archaeologists,” I point out smugly.  “And I have no objections to sleeping together meaning just that.  Sleeping.”  It’s been way too long since I shared my bed, and I’m damned lucky to have gotten him this far this fast.  I’m not pushing my luck – or him.

“And kissing,” Daniel says stubbornly.

“You’ve got a one track mind,” I complain and hunch a neglected shoulder. “Fingers!”

“Sorry,” Daniel apologises meekly, dribbling more warm water and picking up the pace on the massage again.  I kinda zone out, losing myself in the simple pleasure of touch, barely even registering when the engines start and the ship begins to move.  All that wet, warm, willing Daniel snuggled up behind me – Oy.

A vigorous knock on the cabin door and a torrent of friendly Arabic yanks me right out of my reverie.

“Dinner,” Daniel explains.  “I asked for it early so we could just - relax- later.”

“I was just getting nicely relaxed,” I complain as Daniel unwraps his legs – which I have heroically kept my hands off – and gives me an encouraging push.

“I can do a much better job if you lie flat on the bed.  After we’ve eaten.”

“Then let’s get to it,” I match action to words.  “Up and at ‘em.”

“You’re easy,” Daniel grins as he exits the tub with more grace than I managed and pounces on the biggest, fluffiest towel we have.

“I’m a slut,” I agree.  “Old news.  You’re just working this out now?  And gimme that!”  I tug on the towel.   He tugs back.

“Get your own!” Daniel yelps indignantly.

“Don’t make me hurt you!” I warn.  “There’s more of me than there is of you.”

Daniel surrenders the towel suddenly.  “I wasn’t going to say anything.” He’s all demure, downcast eyes.

“Don’t get cocky, I can always trade you in for a more co-operative model.”

“You’re right, Jack,” Daniel admits remorsefully as he towels himself off vigorously.  “I should show more respect,” he calls over his shoulder as he dives out the door, "for my elders!"

Laughing at me.

“Hey!  I’m not that  - eld!”  I regret to say the sight of Daniel’s beautiful, bare butt draws me straight out the door after him, still dripping.  I don’t get to admire for long, let alone touch, as Daniel pulls on the pants Fadil left for him.  Us.  Pair for me too.

“Nice,” I admire.  White, soft, look like Indian cotton.  Daniel’s are a little too loose and hang low on his hips.  “VERY nice.”  Sexy as hell, in fact.  Acres of smooth ivory skin and bare feet on display.  He looks as edible as the vast array of food he’s investigating out on the balcony.  I finish drying off and dress as he pours the wine and turns to lean on the rail and admire the Nile slipping by.

I follow him out and spoon up behind him, holding him and the rail.  Daniel leans his head on my shoulder, resting his hands over mine.

“Very nice,” he sighs.  “I’ve missed you.”

I forget about holding on to the rail and wrap my arms tight around him.  “I know.”  I refuse to insult him with another apology, holding him close to me as we watch the sun set over the Nile, the sky streaking with intense bursts of orange and pink.  For once, the travel brochures don’t lie.  It’s an epic sunset, though I get far more pleasure watching Daniel just - drinking it in.  It feels like forever since I last saw that awe and wonder in his eyes.  It feels good to see it now, to know he feels secure enough to lower his guard.

Daniel stirs as the sky shades to indigo, and I reluctantly let him go.

“If you mention Agatha Christie ONCE, I’m throwing you over the side,” Daniel threatens as he settles into his seat, stretches out his legs to balance his feet on the rail, and sips a little wine.

“Would I be that obvious?”  I’m offended.

“Wizard of Oz?  Doctor Evil?” Daniel hoots.  “I bet it’s breaking your heart you haven’t got a little moustache to twirl.”

Ah.  The boy knows me too well.  I grin and toast him with my glass.  I sip some wine too.  Crap.  It’s great.  God knows what it’s costing me.  Then I turn to the food.  “So what is all this stuff then?”

“The main course is hamaam, stuffed with seasoned rice and grilled.  It’s a national delicacy.”

Daniel taps a plate. Pigeons.  Okay.  I can manage pigeons.

“Be careful though, sometimes they put the head in the stuffing,” Daniel murmurs absently.

Or maybe not.  “They stuff the pigeon’s head up it’s own ass?” I ask incredulously.  “Man, that’s harsh.”

Daniel laughs at my horror.  “This is ti’baan.”

“Chicken?” I ask hopefully.

“Eel,” Daniel corrects.  “It’s very delicate, tastes like salmon.  Try the kufta,” Daniel points to a kebab.  “That’s lamb flavoured with spices and onions.  And the tihina dip, made from sesame seeds, oil, garlic, chilli and lemon.  Laban zabadi – yoghurt.  There’s mint to flavour it with.  This is the chicken – firaakh mashwi.”

Daniel helps himself to the eel and the dip.  He’s braver than I am.  I try the lamb and the yoghurt.  “It’s good,” I’m surprised. “The mint.  It’s good.”

Daniel smiles at me.  “I love Greek yoghurt and honey.”

Oh yeah?  I wonder how interactive you can get with Greek yoghurt?  I investigate a little further and another smile from Daniel tempts me to try the eel for him.  It’s been fried and does have a delicate flavour that sits well with the tihina.  There’s rice too, and roasted vegetables.  The chicken has been grilled and it tastes good with yoghurt.  In fact, the yoghurt tastes just fine on it’s own.  After some time I glance up and catch Daniel watching me, utterly fascinated.

“What?”

He nudges an errant plate towards me.  “Missed one,” he encourages. “Fatir.  Pancakes stuffed with apricots.”

Mmm.  Fatir taste nice with minty yoghurt too.

Daniel shakes his head.  “I’m putting you on a diet when we get home.”

“I’m already on a diet,” I protest, pursuing the last bit of minty yoghurt with the last bite of fatir, “A food combining diet.”  Daniel’s silence is eloquent of disbelief.  “Basically, I see food and I eat it.”  I combine food with me.

“And whatever it is you eat, you combine it with pie?” Daniel muses.  “Or snacks.  I see.”  He eyes me speculatively.  “I’m cutting you off, Jack.  You’ll eat healthy.”

“I’m taking dietary advice from a man whose major food group is caffeine?” I sneer to the Nile and Egypt at large.  “You actually eat?  Now THAT is news.”

“I’m a good cook,” Daniel says calmly.  “I like French food and so will you.  You seem to like everything else, preferably smothered in laban zabadi.”  He eyes the detritus on my side of the table.  “Except pigeon heads, apparently.”

I draw the line at beaks even with minty yoghurt.

“Hey!  When you catch me eating cold pizza for breakfast you can sneer at my eating habits,”  I protest indignantly as I shake the bottle hopefully.  “You drink all the wine?” I demand suspiciously.

“Er – no.  The wine seemed to taste nice with the yoghurt too.  I stopped fighting you a couple of glasses ago.”  He looks down, a sweet little smile playing across his lips.  “You’ve got incredible reflexes.”

“I kissed your hand - which I barely touched by the way - all better, and anyway, you brought it on yourself, trying to steal my yoghurt.”

We had fun.  Can’t remember the last time we tried it.

Daniel starts to laugh again as he uncurls himself from his chair and strolls back into the bedroom.  Naturally, I follow.  He’s headed for the bed.  “Can you make pie?” I ask eagerly.  Daniel nods gravely, eyes sparkling.  "Lemon meringue.  Pecan.  Apple and cinnamon."

“Cool,” I breathe. How soon can I move him in?  Or -- "You do take out?"

Daniel shakes his head sadly, looks down at that big, comfortable bed and then at me.

“I can sleep on the couch,” I offer gallantly.  We both regard the couch in contemplative silence.  “Maybe not,” I concede.  It finishes a foot or so before I do.

“I’ve never shared a bed with a man in my life,” Daniel says in a small voice.

“Stop fishing, Daniel.  I’m NOT telling you,” I say sternly.  He’s been doing this the whole time we’ve been eating.  I admit, I’ve been winding him up just to see the pout and the stormy eyes I’m getting right now.

I close the gap between us and put my hands on his shoulders, walk him back to the edge of the bed and urge him gently down, then spoon comfortably up behind him.  The bed has fixtures and fittings too.  I can turn out the lights, close the curtains and play music from here.  If it came with an inbuilt TV remote, I’d marry this bed and take it home. As it is, the damn thing is so comfortable I feel like I’m two-timing Daniel.  Three-timing, if you include minty condiments.  I said I was a slut.

After a moment, Daniel turns suddenly in my arms to face me.  His eyes are huge, glittering in the moonlight flooding the room.  "About that kissing?" A coaxing hand cups my cheek.

I think I know what he's 'thought' about me.  I think he's dreamed of me doing and being all the things I once was, when I was his friend.  Being there for him, wanting him around.  Loving him and showing it, without the words ever needing to be spoken between us.  Being kind to him.  Patient.  Tolerant.  Gentle.  And I think for a while, reality is going to have to run out just where his imagination runs out.  Until he wants to go further.

"Necking," I growl.  "Sweet."  Sweet as I can make it, kissing him deeply, tenderly.  Slowly.  No frenzied gasping for breath, just easing back, roaming to nip along his jaw or make love to the hollow at the base of his throat with my tongue, or up to nibble at his ear.  God, but he kisses wonderfully well, clinging to me, hands carefully exploring as he gives me his all.  Doesn't know how to play it cool, how to hold back.  Stroking his tongue against mine, moaning his pleasure into my mouth.

Arching into me, craving skin on skin, gasping as he feels the heat of my hands through the thin cotton, caressing his thighs, his butt.  Slipping up to map every contour of back, chest and abdomen.  "Jack," is all he says.  Love you, Jack.  Missed you.  I can wait for him to tell me want you, Jack.  Need you.  It won't need words.  The hands touching me with confidence - with eagerness even - that's a gift I can enjoy to the full.  He's safe, secure - trusting.  Reaching out, knowing I’ll  meet him halfway.

I want to push it.  I want to ease him beneath me and teach him a lesson he won’t get from Carter, a lesson about friction.  It's been so long for him - for us both - and the scent of him, the sheen of sweat on his skin - he's so close.  If I brought him just that much further --

"Easy.  Easy now," I soothe, with hands and voice.  Holding now.  Still tangled up and close, but calming.  Heated skin cooling, breathing evening out.  Daniel's head settling on my shoulder.

"S - sorry," Daniel apologises.

I indulge myself, playing with his hair.  "Me too.  It's definitely not as much fun necking if you're not in danger of having your folks bursting in on you when you least expect it," I mourn.  "Other than that, WHOO!"  I tease out some of the soft strands between my fingers.  "When was the last time YOU went 'Whoo'?" I ask curiously.

"When you put your hand on my - "

"Daniel, that was an accident, I swear, and frankly, it's best if you leave it alone.  There isn’t a shower in Egypt cold enough to help me out with THAT mental picture," I order crisply.

"You didn't hear me?" Daniel murmurs, not entirely grasping the no touching rule.  One slender finger is gently tracing the muscles on my abdomen in a manner that makes it very hard to think at all, let alone think straight.

I grin down into wide, ingenuous eyes.  "I got kinda busy."

"You did?  Busy?  Just remind me again?" Daniel nibbles my shoulder. "I was busy too."

I vigorously quell a shit load of treacherous hormones.  "You want me to drop YOU over the side?"

Daniel stops nibbling long enough to shake his head emphatically.  Just long enough, then he dives back in.

"I will if you don't stop that!" I say desperately.

"Stop what?" he asks innocently, lapping a trail up towards my lips.

Oh God.  Now he’s all secure and warm and glowing, he’s decided to play with a forest fire. What’s he – no - Oh GOD!

 

* * *

DANIEL

“Better?” I ask anxiously.  Jack’s only response is a piteous groan.  I smooth on a little more of the fragrant oil the ever helpful Fadil located for me and work it deeply into Jack’s tense shoulders.  I open my mouth.

“Don’t you DARE apologise.  Not again.  A man can only take so much,” Jack growls.

I close my mouth.

A cautious hand reaches around and pats my thigh reassuringly for a brief moment.  Jack sighs.  I sigh.

“Not your fault, Daniel.  You can’t help being - y'know - you.” Jack groans as I work a particularly thorny spot at the nape of his neck.  “If we didn’t make mistakes, we wouldn’t learn anything.  We’ll know better next time.”

“You should have let me sleep on the couch.”

“Survival.  What have you got, what do you need,” Jack mutters into the pillow.

Jack got  - um - carried away.  We needed  - he insisted we needed – distance, and what we had was one bed and one couch.  One of us allegedly does a massage that could get one of us arrested and one of us was going to need the massage come morning.  Hence Jack’s current state.  Prostrate does not begin to cover it.

“We’ll be more careful in future. More precautions.  More clothes.  More – vertical.”

I feel more guilt with every excusing syllable he utters.  I admit this was my fault.  I was playing and – um - had somewhat underestimated just how ‘bad’ Jack’s bad days are.  I just don’t see what it is about me that attracts him so powerfully.  Jack says that doesn’t matter, he sees it just fine, thank you.  And for the moment, preferably from a safe distance.  He refused to be drawn on who exactly it was safe for.

“No more being – ‘naughty’,” Jack orders, sternly.  “Not until – y’know,” he adds gruffly.

After the way he made me feel last night, that may very well be sooner than either of us thought.  The more Jack reassures me we don’t have to, the more I want to.  He’s not even using reverse psychology on me.  He means it.  He’s desperately trying to be supportive.  I think I’m going to have to be fairly emphatic about it when I am ready.  I didn’t realise I was going to have to deal with Jack selflessly atoning for what he considers to be past wrongs.  He’s refusing to make out until he makes up, so to speak.

If it wasn’t for this being his second back rub of the day and his feeding us both my Greek yoghurt and honey whilst I was sprawled – at his insistence - all over his lap earlier, apparently to aid in the recuperation process, I’d be worried.

 

* * *

Jack is smirking at Steven in a manner carefully calculated to enrage a saint.  I could kill him.  Jack, that is.  It’s Steven that Jack wants to kill, more or less on general principles.  It’s not helping that Steven has asked to speak to me alone no less than three times now.  Jack has put him down harder each and every time, before I could get a word in.

Nor does it help that from time to time Steven is apparently ‘looking’ at me in a manner Jack refuses to quantify, but which is nonetheless annoying him intensely.

I had to drag Jack outside and kiss him to extract even that much information from him.  He flatly refused to behave himself, though he made a spirited case for being allowed to misbehave himself in the tent – with an unspecified person - if that would help.  I commented that, regrettably, Steven didn’t think of him that way, and now Jack is mad at me too.  Jack commented in return that he was looking forward to me making it up to him, later.  In the tent.  He rather enjoyed having me sprawled all over his lap this morning, and wants to try it again. I don’t think I’ve had cause to sit on someone’s lap since I was about five, and twice in one day is a bit much for me at the age of thirty five.  I refused point blank.

Needless to say, Steven and I are completing the sweep of the final chamber in stony silence and Jack is giving us both attitude.  Playful attitude in my case, ‘eat shit and die, ASAP’ attitude in Steven’s case.  The difference is unmistakable.

Steven and I check over the final radargram analysis.  “There’s nothing here.”  Yes, I am a little disappointed.

“No,” he sighs heavily.  “I was hoping to avoid it, but it looks as if I will have to open the secret chamber beneath the altar.”

“Sarah took the key,” I remind him.  Actually, the NID have the amulet, along with all of Osiris’ toys.  Steven studiously avoids my eyes.  “You can’t be serious!  You CAN’T damage the altar.”

Jack perks right up, obviously waiting for the chance to add his mite to the incipient storm.

“Think about YOUR reputation, not mine,” I advise earnestly.  “The RPA will have you struck off the register for gross misconduct, bringing the profession into disrepute and damaging the body of evidence.  You not only won’t get tenure, Steven, the Institute would have grounds for dismissal.  Think about what you’re doing.  Steven!”  I call after him as he turns his back on me and marches up the steps towards the main chamber.

Jack shrugs at yet more evidence of the bizarre customs of archaeologists in their native environs and mutters something along the lines of good riddance.  I push past him impatiently and follow Steven out of the temple and over to his jeep.

“You can’t do this.  I won’t permit you to damage the altar.”

“It’s the only way, Daniel,” Steven busies himself unwrapping his tools.  “Unless – “

“Unless?”

Steven turns to me suddenly, steps right up close to me.  “Unless you come back with me.  Back where you belong.  HELP me, Daniel.  I can’t – “ he abruptly bites off the words.

“You can’t do this on your own, can you?” I finally realise the truth.  “Your work, your research – Jack was right.  Populist.  Professor Jordan was your validation, your credibility.   That’s why you stayed as his research assistant all this time.  You were afraid to have your work judged on its own merits,” I say sadly.  “Steven,” I lay a cautious hand on his arm, “I’m sorry, I –“

“SORRY?” Steven rages, breaking my grip and shoving me up against the jeep hard enough to knock the wind out of me.  “You’re sorry, you sonovabitch?  You had it ALL,” I push forward and he grabs my wrists, slamming me back, harder than before.  “Five years!  Five years without a WORD, then you come back and ruin my - Why the fuck couldn’t you just stay away, Daniel?  Why? You had everything, and you THREW it all away.  For what?  HIM?” he sneers.

I see ‘HIM’ rapidly bearing down on us, and decide better I hurt Steven a little than Jack hurt him a lot.  Jack has decided – quite emphatically - it’s okay for him to touch me and definitely NOT okay for anyone else.  I press myself flat to the jeep and use the small space created to efficiently knee Steven in the balls, dropping him where he stands, howling and clutching himself as he rolls in agony.

Jack slows to a visibly thwarted saunter and checks out the floor show. “You NEVER let me have any fun,” he complains bitterly, “Remind me never to tick YOU off,” he says pleasantly, eyeing me with interest..  Then he grins wolfishly. “Interesting move.”

I feel some explanation is called for.  “Primary target,” I offer primly, stepping neatly over Steven to Jack’s side as we back off to a discreet distance.

“Uh huh.”

Not enough.  Not nearly enough for Jack.

“I had a little extra-curricular training.”

Jack quirks an eyebrow.

“After Hadante,” I whisper.

“Ah.” Jack’s face is a picture, probably as a result of recalling the same combination of factors he spinelessly failed to explain to me at the time.  “Carter?” he asks casually, failing to meet my eye.

Courtesy of our Chief Medical Officer, as a matter of fact.  I wouldn’t like to run into either Janet or Sam in a dark alley.  They could both take me.  Janet may be smaller, but she’s sneakier.  And bossier. I remember spending a lot of time on my ass, and I remember a lot of sighing from Sam and Janet.  They bolt felt strongly the best tactic for ‘someone like me’ was a swift kick in the balls.  Apparently, being a gentleman is a good thing, but not in a fight.  I did eventually put Sam on her ass, but that was excusable.  She had just called me 'sweet'.  She and Janet insisted later that was strictly motivational.

Jack closes the gap and assists Steven to his feet via a death grip at the scruff of his neck.  “Can you think of one good reason why I shouldn’t kick your ass all over this camp?” he drawls menacingly, “You lowlife piece of – “

“Jack!”

Jack pulls Steven closer and stares deep into his eyes.  “You DON’T get to have him,” he says softly.  Then he lets go abruptly, and just for that final, added insult, wipes his hands distastefully on his jeans.

I give up.

“For cryin’ out loud,” I sigh.

“Daniel, can you open up the altar without damaging it too much?” Jack asks suddenly.  He takes one look at my face.  “Don’t start with me, Daniel.  If it shuts him up and moves him on – “

“There is no question of damaging the site,” I say coldly.  “The prime directive of field excavation is the preservation of archaeological remains in situ.  I will not stand idly by and permit the destruction of the altar.  I’ll call the authorities  and have you removed from the site if you refuse to see reason, Steven.  Archaeological evidence is a fragile, finite resource, as you well know. It cannot be renewed.  If it’s damaged, it’s lost forever.  We cannot own the past, nor can we deliberately or unthinkingly destroy the cultural legacy left by past generations.  We hold these things in trust for society, and we’re accountable for our stewardship.  I can’t believe you of all people would even consider such a course of action.”

“Oh, he doesn’t,” Jack drawls laconically.  “He’s trying to force your hand.  Isn’t that right, ‘Steven’?  Rayner doesn't want his career in a Porsche, he wants it in a," Jack hesitates fractionally, then goes smoothly on, "Symposium," he says superbly.  "He doesn't want to be pandered to by the hoi polloi, he wants to be worshipped by an admiring audience of his peers as he whitters on about - relative dating and - stuff," he finishes triumphantly.

I wonder if Jack has any idea what it does to me when he talks about archaeology?  Part of it has to be proof that he was actually paying attention, but the rest -- Oh momma.  I wonder if I can get him to tell me all about stratigraphy tonight?  Or - maybe - lithic debitage.  I'll even sit on his lap if it helps the teaching process.

Can you say diachronic, Jack? Will you whisper it in my ear like you know what it means?  Oh boy oh - oh.

There are faint signs of recovery from Steven, in the sense that he has revived enough to shoot hateful looks at Jack.

"Jack."

Jack feigns deafness, tightening his grip as he returns the looks with interest.  I see a faint suggestion of a fist forming.

"I think Steven can manage just fine on his own now," I insist.  Nope.  Jack is SO not a good boy.  Gonna have to play dirty.  I lean in close and blow gently in his ear.  Jack shies away, snarling, incidentally slackening his grip on Steven, who wrenches free.

"Hey!  No fair!" Jack cries indignantly.

"Within the established ground rules," I say firmly.  Fully dressed, fully vertical and witness present.  All reasonable precautions present and correct.  However, I'm going to have to remember NOT to do that when he's carrying a gun.  I don't want to be answerable for the consequences.  He seems to find me blowing gently on any part of him intensely erotic, but lavishing attention on his ears in particular gets a six gun salute.

Ignoring Jack's outraged sputtering - like he's never exploited a known tactical advantage before, say, for example, random selection here, my being TICKLISH - I focus on Steven.  I feel so sorry for him.  I never realised he was crushed under the weight of his own unrealistic expectations.  He's a solid, dependable scholar.  Talented, even, though he’s no Robert Rothman. As much as I want to help Steven, I can't open up to him. I can't bring him in to the SGC programme, not with this insecurity complex colouring his perceptions and informing his actions.  He wouldn’t be able to rest without recognition, validation.  He would not be able to know and not share.

He's going to have to stand on his own, find his own flames to get shot down in.  I can't help him with that.  It isn’t enough for Steven to be good; he wants to be inspired.  He wants to be the best.  He will never settle for what he has because he falls short of his own mark.  As long as the most important thing to Steven is what the work means for him and not to him, he's going to judge himself a failure.  Robert and I - he - we wanted to do our best, not be the best.

I'm going to have to shut Steven down and only one course of action presents itself.  Steven is never going to accept what I tell him.  Judging me by his own standard, he'll always be looking for the hidden agenda; he'll always be convinced I'm holding something vital back because it's what he'd do.  What he has done.  He needs to see for himself, prove to his own satisfaction there is nothing here.  If he’s capable of satisfaction.

If Jack will only trust me.

I break into the sullen silence.  "Steven, if it means this much to you -- "

"You'll come back?" he asks eagerly.

Jack snorts.  For a moment I'm tempted to say yes just to see what reaction I'd get.  Jack may have ordered me not to be naughty, but I don’t recall agreeing to obey him.  I often do what I'm asked.  I rarely do what I'm told.  And I have every intention of being positively wicked as I teach Jack to differentiate between the two.

"No, Steven," I reply gently.  "But you can stay.  Someone in the Department of Antiquities owes a favour to George - to a friend of ours.  I can get you dispensation to dig here, and a research assistant.  Jack is tapped in to a small crowd always on the lookout for new - research - opportunities.  Won't cost you a dime."

Jack gives me that patented, long suffering 'DAN-iel what the hell are you up to NOW?' look of his.  "Sure thing," he comments unenthusiastically.  I'm sure I can talk him around; a little lip to ear interface and he will soon be brought to fully appreciate the force of my arguments, vis a vis Steven and the NID being made for one another.

"In fact," he says, brightening up visibly, "we could have someone here by close of business to - "

"Tomorrow," I cut him off ruthlessly.  It would be too unkind to leave Steven hanging like this, just because Jack wants a hot bath, clean sheets and me.  He can rough it for one night in the sleeping bag. It breaks all of the ground rules Jack has established for us, but what the hey.  Jack firmly believes if you're going to break the rules, you should break 'em good and hard.

 

* * *

I've finally managed to shake Jack off, and believe me, it wasn't easy to despatch him off to smooth things over with George and make a determination on the most 'suitable' NID candidate to keep an eye on Steven here at the dig.  Being in love seems to have upped his boredom threshold considerably.  I had to resort to a protracted discussion of postholes which gradually drove Jack out of his mind and eventually right out of the temple.  It also soothed Steven’s lacerated sensibilities somewhat.

I'm slightly disappointed Steven went for my offer.  He's right in this instance to believe I'm hiding something from him, but in all the time I've known him, I don't think I've ever given him cause to mistrust me so - instinctually.  Guilty until proven innocent?  All this time, I believed I’d disappointed a friend.  I’ve disappointed Steven for sure, but I’m no longer certain Steven meets any definition of friendship I have.

“Do you really wish I’d never come back?” I ask quietly.

“Yes,” he says flatly.  “We were fine as we were.  Professor Jordan looked for you, you know?  Sarah too.  Nothing.  Not a single paper, not a single research application.  Like you dropped off the face of the Earth.  He was finally putting you in the proper perspective, finally accepting that you’d thrown your career away and you weren’t coming back.  Then this.  God.  First you, then Sarah.  He deserved better.”

“Yes,” I agree quietly.  “He did.”

“At least he never had to know why you refused to keep in touch.  You could hardly advertise your clandestine relationship with the jarhead to the world,” Steven says bitterly.

“Jack is the best friend I’ve ever had, and the best man I’ve ever known.  We barely have a thing in common, but still, he’s my friend.  He’s WORKED at being my friend.  He’s always been there for me, always looked out for me.  He’s seen me at my worst and at my lowest, and after five years, he’s still here, a rock at my back.  A thorn in my side, too, some days,” I add ruefully.  “He isn’t perfect, but neither am I.  He knows me through and through and yet he loves me anyway.  I’d ask you to show him the respect he deserves, but I don’t see the point.  You’ll never get what I see in Jack – you’ll never GET Jack – because you’re not like him,” I say sorrowfully.

“Thanks.  I think,” Jack says wryly.

Both Steven and I jump.  Jack is WAY too good at sneaking up on people.

“This is a private conversation,” Steven snarls.

“Don’t mind me.  Go right ahead.  I just came to tell Daniel that dear old George can’t manage without him another day.”  Jack turns to me, eyes soft with regret.  “Got an errand he needs you to run.  Soon as,” Jack says seriously.  “He’s sending someone by to pick us up, so I’m gonna go stow our gear while you say your fond farewells.”

“Who exactly is this George?” Steven demands.

“Sugar daddy,” Jack says whimsically as he strolls away.  “Bank rolls our expeditions, on behalf of my – er – uncle,” he pauses and turns back.  “Oh yeah.  Don’t touch the altar, Rayner.  Your research assistant is on his way and so are the Egyptian authorities.  They find one scratch wasn’t there before, you can kiss your ass goodbye, ‘cause you’ll be ending up in a place where they’ll be standing in line to ki - ”

“Thanks, Jack,” I speak loudly over the top of him, scowling ferociously.  To no effect whatsoever, as usual.

“For ya,” he smirks malevolently at Steven and swaggers off towards the tent.

“You’re leaving?” Steven sounds lost.

Perhaps he is.  He’s lost the Professor and Sarah, in the worst possible circumstances, and this will be the third time I’ve walked away from him without a word of explanation.  I’ve been so overwhelmed by finding Jack again, so focused on what we’re feeling for one another, I haven’t spared any time to consider Steven’s feelings for me.

“Did you – I mean, are you – um – “ I falter.  “I never meant to hurt you!  I just – I didn’t know.”

“There’s nothing TO know,” Steven spits.  “You forfeited your right to explanations when you walked out on me the first time.  You didn’t listen, you wouldn’t let me -- We got by just fine without you.  We didn’t need you – I don’t need you.  You’re a joke, Daniel.  A bad joke.  A bad joke and a worse friend.  Maybe I did come to believe your theories, maybe I was prepared to take you back, but hey!  I should know better by now.  It has to be YOUR way.  You’d rather go down in flames on your own and know you’re RIGHT than compromise.  You won’t let anybody in, won’t let anybody close.  Except – “ Steven’s eyes go to the tent for a moment.  “Well, you know what, Daniel?  I can do this on MY own.  Do me a favour, huh?”

“Anything I can.”

“Then do what you’re good at, Daniel.  Just walk on by.”  With that he turns on his heel and stalks back into the temple.

I stare after him helplessly.  There isn’t a single thing I can say or do for him.  He wasn’t just attracted to me, he was in love with me.  I didn’t even see it.  I didn’t ever see him, not truly, and the only thing I feel for him right now is pity.

 

* * *

JACK

“Just walk on by.”

From my vantage point inside the tent flap, I see Daniel stare at Rayner’s turned back and I see the words bite home.  Daniel is way too sensitive, but it’s so much a part of who he is, so necessary to the empathy that has allowed him to connect with race after race I can’t regret it.  I love him for it and I can understand it, even if I’m not the same.  I get to protect him from the consequences, and who I am.

All over.

I wait until Daniel has snuck off to fret himself to pieces behind the dune.  What Jack doesn’t see, his heart doesn’t grieve over?  Then I follow Rayner back down into the tomb.

Just walk on by?

Fucking bastard Rayner.

Oh, it’s way past time he had a little wake up call.  That was calculated – deliberate – studied.  Rayner all over.  Daniel has given him trouble from the moment he got here, been so much stronger than Rayner was banking on.

Thank Christ Carter made all that noise about someone coming over here with Daniel.  She’s definitely with us in spirit, checking out all the reports on the Osiris business.  Checking out Rayner.  Checking out police reports.  Two murders Carter doesn’t think we can tie to Osiris.  No clear motive and no opportunity.  Got a perfect candidate, though.  Right here, large as life.

We’ll see about that.

I sneak up behind him, in plenty of time to see him checking out the ‘lock’ the amulet opened on the altar.  It won’t do him any good.  There’s no physical evidence whatsoever, no sign at all that altar was ever lit up like Macy’s Window.  The NID boys are thorough.  With teachers like Maybourne, they couldn’t be anything else.  Thorough or dead.  No middle ground.

Different deal for Rayner.  Thorough could get him  - dead.

“So,” I snarl, right by his ear, making him jump and spin towards me.  Unconscionable bastard.  My pleasure, Danny.  I copy Danny’s move from earlier, but my knee winds up where it should after I put Rayner on his back hard enough to knock the wind out of him.  Right on Rayner’s throat.  He says anything I don’t want to hear, he’ll not be around long enough to regret it.

“Just how much do you remember of the attack?” I ask softly, leaning my weight forward.  Rayner gasps and I let him choke just long enough to panic.  He gets the message.  He’s not in charge here.  No manipulation.  Straight answers or he has only himself to blame for the consequences.  “Why the all-consuming interest in the altar?  Plain enough for even this middle-aged dullard to see you were risking fucking up your career.  Like you’re gonna risk that Porsche unless you’re dead – “ I emphasise with a little knee to the throat – “ certain the risk will pay off.”

“What’s it to you?” Rayner spits, hating me.

“You’re trying to use Daniel to work whatever angle it is you think you see.  You think I’ll stand idly by and permit ANYONE to bring him harm?  You don’t get to mess with his mind.  Leave this alone, leave HIM alone.  You got your dig, you got your funding.  That’s ALL you’re gonna get.”

“And just why are you ‘giving’ me all this ‘help’, ‘Jack’?” he bites off the words contemptuously.

My knee just kinda strikes out on its own for a moment.  “Show me some fucking respect,” I warn softly.  “I’m giving you enough rope to hang yourself, Rayner.”

He wisely chokes down the harsh words before I do it for him.

“There’s nothing here.  Only two ways I can be sure you don’t bring trouble to Daniel’s door.  This way you only make more of an asshole of yourself than you already have if you’re dumb enough to push this investigation.” I hold his eyes.  “You won’t like the other way.  You don’t refer to Daniel’s research and you keep his name out of any crap you try to pass off as original.  Are we clear?”

Rayner still thinks he has a choice.

I lean in.  “Are we CLEAR?”

“Y- yes – Nazi BASTARD – for Chrissakes, YES,” he sputters, wheezing.

He’s – obvious.

Time to bring this home.  “I’m bored with all this talk of dead guys.  So let’s talk – dead guys.  Sarah Gardner is a solid lock for the Professor, but that still leaves the nice curator who was so helpful to Daniel, and the technician who blew everything you ever thought you knew about Egyptology outta the water, and probably would have taken your career with it.”

Rayner goes very still.

“Like that was ever gonna happen,” I snort.  “Over someone’s dead body.”

“Just what the fuck are you accusing me of?” Steven rages.

He does that so well.

“Murder.”

“Wh – what?  That’s – that’s – it’s – I – “

“Can’t string a coherent sentence?” I suggest pleasantly.  “Thank you.  I now fully realise just how lucky Daniel is to be far, far away from bottom-feeders like you.  Dear old George knows a few people.  Don’t think for a second we’ve forgotten how you tried to have the murder of the curator pinned on him.  We haven’t.  We won’t.  Of course, that was before you considered you might need to exploit him again some day.  He was an inconvenience, so you tried to put him out of your way.”  I wait a beat.  “Kinda like the curator and the technician.  Bet it really frosted your cookies, finding out what a dumb shit you really are.  Destroying the test evidence so you could steal Daniel’s work, and then letting Sarah beat you to the punch so you’d need it again? I mean, come on?  Who knew?” I say lightly.  “Bet the police would like to know.”

“There’s no proof,” he says confidently.

“There needs to be?” I ask mildly.  “That’s news to me.  Just because you were all alone with curator before she was murdered – “

“That was a freak accident!”

I just smile.  Slowly.  “Like the police have never made a mistake before?  I’m sure they’ll be open to suggestion, especially if someone was to draw the murder of the technician to their attention.  With you and Sarah running around icing the Faculty, between ya, I’m not surprised the police have gotten a little confused.  Haven’t investigated as thoroughly as they might have.  They might just rethink their position if someone was to give them admissible evidence you were the one who stood most to gain from the technician’s death.  Network back-ups are a beautiful thing.  Tombstone.”  Remind me to give Hammond a big kiss and shake Carter by the hand when we get back.  They came through.  “Gotta love those network back-ups.”

“Your choice, Rayner.  Check out the tomb.  Feel free.  And when you don’t find anything, move on.  Keep your mouth shut and don’t bother Daniel.  EVER again.  I got someone dropping by to help you see the  - force - of the argument.  You’d better be fucking convincing.  I want you to be crystal clear on this.  No possible margin for error.  You try to take Daniel down – “ I lean on his throat until he’s clawing at my thigh, eyes bulging.  “I take you out, you loveless bastard.”

 

* * *

DANIEL

“ARE you okay?” Jack hisses, jabbing me painfully in the ribs, as the elevator hits twenty.  “You haven’t said word one for almost - ” he makes a big production number of checking his watch, “ - two hours now.  Not that I’m complaining, you understand.  Longest break you’ve ever given me, as I recall.  Just that silence and Daniel – Daniel and silence - it’s unnerving me.  I’m not used to it.  You never shut up.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly.

Jack is being circumspect - yet insulting - because we have an audience.  An inoffensive SF, who made the fatal mistake of getting into the elevator on twelve and looking quite pleased to see me.  He got ‘Colonel O’Neill’ in the face, Jack glowering at him every inch of the way down through eight floors.  The poor guy – Sergeant Taylor - is totally bewildered, and well he should be.  I’ve been trying to ameliorate Jack’s hostility by smiling at Taylor every time we make eye contact.  I think Jack and I are coming off like ‘good cop bad cop’.  I should tell Jack that Taylor only smiled at me because I gave him some information for his son’s history project before we left for Egypt, but in light of Jack’s outrageous jealousy, I’m not in the mood.  He can suffer.  I glance across.  He is suffering.  Premature separation anxiety, I think.

I’m expecting an interesting briefing.  Only two things will make Jack happy right now.  Either I get to stay or he gets to go, and as George was pretty specific this briefing is for 'Dr Jackson' not SG-1, Jack is going to be disappointed on both counts.

On twenty-one, the elevator doors open on Sam, who seems surprised by the abrupt exit of Sergeant Taylor.  I'm pretty sure he actually punched twenty-six, but I'm guessing he was finding the elevator a little too full of Jack.

"Hey, Sam," I smile.

Sam beams at me.  "Daniel!" Then she smiles at Jack.  "Sir.  How was  - everything - okay?" she asks.

"Sandy," Jack says, staring somewhere over her shoulder.

"Was the situation resolved, Sir?" Sam presses.

"Let's just say it's fine in the here and now, but a little cloudy in the future," Jack says cautiously.

Sam looks disappointed.

"That was my fault," I confess.  "It was my decision, but Jack backed me up."

"It was," Jack agrees, still looking at Sam. "And I did."

"Good," Sam says warmly.

"Steven was so determined to find corroboratory evidence, and so convinced I was concealing something from him - which of course I am, but he didn't know that - I thought it was best he be allowed to find out for himself first hand there is no evidence to substantiate the age of the site concealed at the temple."

"Relative dating," Jack supplies without hesitation.  "All the artefacts were removed."

Rather like a Pavlovian response.  I feel obscurely guilty.  I'm taking advantage of Jack's hormone-induced willingness to indulge me.  He is so damn sexy when he talks about archaeology, I - I couldn’t resist.  All the way back to the SGC, I  - um - utterly failed to resist.

Sam takes it without a blink, her smile, if anything, widening.

"You have NO idea, Carter.  None," Jack sighs.

Sam looks down, lips quivering.  "I imagine not, Sir."

As the doors open on twenty-eight, Jack ushers us out.  "I still can't believe Rayner survived.   If ever there was a man crying out for 'with extreme prejudice' - "

"Tell me about it!" Sam agrees emphatically, eyes snapping.

"He was my friend!" I protest.

"Some 'friend', Daniel," Sam argues.

"I'm getting soft," Jack complains.  "It's the only explanation. YOUR bad influence, Daniel."

"Are you coming in for the debriefing, Sam?" I ask, surprised, as Sam idles along beside us.  She’s like me, there’s so much neglected work on base every second is precious.  "Aren't you busy with your experiments?"

Both Sam and Jack flush.

"Yeah.  Pretty routine stuff, Carter.  No need to hang around.  I'll catch up with you later, fill you in on anything I think you need to know," Jack says casually.

"Looking forward to it, Sir," Sam grins, before turning on her heel and heading back the way she came.

I need to talk with Jack first, but then I really think I need to talk with Sam.  I know she has been keeping a discreet distance from Jack for a while now, but it wasn’t so long ago she was the one Jack was turning to every chance he got.  I’ve never talked to Sam about her feelings for Jack, and I realise I have no real idea of how deep those feelings went or how much she’ll be hurt that Jack and I are together.  Even if we don’t tell her, Sam is smart enough, perceptive enough and close enough to both of us to work it out for herself.

Just as I did.

The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt Sam.  If she’s feeling anything even approximating what I’ve been feeling all these months, she’ll need to know that whatever else may have changed, we are still friends.  This isn’t about Sam; it’s about Jack and me.

“Daniel?  You with me here?” Jack asks softly, as he pushes open the briefing room door.

I smile.  “Yes, Jack.  I’m with you.”

 

* * *

"So you're certain there's no risk to the security of this command, Dr Jackson?" the general asks.

"Certain."

"Colonel?"

"I agree.  Rayner doesn't remember squat about the ribbon device or the toys NID took away and he swallowed the tale about Sarah Gardner hook, line and sinker - probably sorry he didn't think of it first, if you ask me."

"We didn't," I snap.

Jack smirks.  "Daniel swept that place thoroughly, Sir.  No concealed chambers, no buried treasure.  Nothing to see, nothing to find.  Rayner will have plenty of time to come to the same conclusion.  The NID boy has orders to work him pretty hard."

George nods approvingly.  "A wise decision, Dr Jackson.  Based on what you've told me of Dr Rayner's motivations for seeking you out - "

The Reader's Digest version.

" - and the extraordinary cover Colonel O'Neill felt compelled to adopt - "

Edited slightly by Jack for adult content - i.e., OUR motivations - therefore both completely accurate and totally misleading at one and the same time.  Jack nobly took the blame for the ‘idle dilettante’ cover before I could get a word in.  Jack’s summation of his travails at my hands was graphic enough to tug any Air Force heartstring, particularly the postholes discussion.  I’m lost in admiration.  George has just enough of the picture to be amused and not nearly enough to ‘worry’ over, and any potential damage from Steven has been neatly neutralised, no matter what he may choose to say to his ‘research assistant’.  I never realised Jack could ‘spin’ quite so effectively, weaving ‘interpreted’ truth and outright fiction seamlessly.

" - I'd have to agree this was the best course of action.  Dr Rayner is contained and presents no risk to security at this moment.  The NID operative will review.  Well done, gentlemen."  George smiles warmly at us both.

"About this snipe hunt you have lined up for Daniel, Sir?" Jack challenges after basking in the warm glow of accomplishment for a nanosecond.

“Major Kovacek will be taking time out from mission prep to join us for Dr Jackson’s briefing.”

“Kovacek?  I thought this was SG-11’s gig?  What’s with the new guy?  Simpson?” Jack’s eyes harden.  “What exactly are you proposing to send Daniel into, Sir?”  He shoots Stan an assessing look as he walks in.

“Major Kovacek.  Take a seat,” the general nods to Stan, who sits by me.

“General.  Colonel O’Neill,” Stan nods to Jack.  “Daniel.”  He smiles at me.  I smile back.  Jack scowls at both of us, while the general looks ‘patiently’ at Jack.

Jack’s sudden, inexplicable jealousy is quite unnerving.  I’m fairly certain once the physical side of our relationship is resolved, he’ll calm down again.  Fairly certain.  Though that doesn’t actually help anybody caught in the cross-fire in the meantime.  What am I supposed to say?  Don’t worry: you won’t get yours if Jack gets his?

“Something amusing, Daniel?” Jack snaps.

“As you know, SG-11 were carrying out a routine geological survey of P4X-717,” the general begins.  “The team discovered traces of a rare mineral in the soil samples.  This is a mineral we’ve encountered only on B2Y-984.”

“Oh!” I remember.  “The Dal.  They had naquadah in plentiful supply, but we had nothing of sufficient value to trade for it.” Jack looks blank, prompting me with an eloquent shrug to go on.  “The crystals formed the basis of their technology.  Sam wasn’t allowed to bring back any significant samples of the mineral for testing because it was in such short supply.  All she could do with the trace she had was map its constituent elements.” I turn to the general.  “You’re thinking of trading the mineral found on P4X-717 with the Dal in exchange for the naquadah.”

“Major Carter did report the naquadah to be of weapons grade,” Stan interjects.

“So if everything is hunky-dory, why’d they need an archaeologist?”

“Major Simpson penetrated twenty kliks from the gate and reported finding signs of habitation,” the general is calmly overlooking Jack’s less than receptive attitude.  “A small town, and close by, a temple.  Everything is in excellent repair, so we made the assumption the people are nomadic.”

“It’s not usual for people to abandon permanent dwellings for any period of time.  I’d suggest a religious ceremony of some kind, but if it’s not centred on the temple?”  George shakes his head.  “The people came back, right?” I realise.

“The UAV found what looked to be mine workings to the east of the town.  Soil samples taken from the vicinity were especially rich in the mineral.  The Major felt an incursion into the mine was worth the risk.  SG-11 triggered some unknown security device and the people returned.  Through the Stargate.”

“They were off-world?  Everyone?  Did the UAV find any other signs of habitation?  Farms or outlying villages?  Other towns?” I ask.

“Nothing but the primary dwelling site, the temple and the mine within UAV range of the gate,” Stan comments.

“What about schools?”

“Nothing to suggest it.  The only communal building in the town is the temple, Daniel.”

“Then it’s a mining colony.  Transient population, permanent operation,” I judge.

“Makes sense,” Jack grudgingly concurs.  “Were the natives restless?”

“Not after Major Simpson was able to show that SG-11 hadn’t removed more than a few sample crystals from the mine.  There was no question of wholesale theft, and the mine supervisor – for want of a better word - seems willing to let that pass,” the general picks up the thread.  “Major Simpson attempted to negotiate for access to the mineral, but the negotiations have fallen on stony ground.”

“No pun intended,” Stan says ruefully.  “They are perfectly polite, perfectly hospitable.  And very, very distant.  I went in to take over the trade negotiations and for once, I just can’t get a hook.  I’m baffled by these people.  They seem – expectant.  Like they’re amiably tolerating our presence until we ‘get it’.  I have no idea what ‘it’ is.  All I know is we’re back in the same position we were in with the Dal.  We have nothing they seem to want.”

“Seem?  We must have something, or they would have sent the team back through the Stargate, correct?” I ask.

Stan smiles.  “That’s my assessment too, Daniel, but I can’t work out what it is they’re after.  It’s incredibly frustrating.  We can’t get access to their computer systems, and there are no paper records.  We can’t find enough out about these people to find that hook we need, and they just aren’t talking.”

“The people haven’t objected to our visiting the temple, Dr Jackson, which is where you come in,” George smiles at me too.

“The temple seems to be the heart of the community, Daniel.  We were allowed to roam around the outer chamber quite freely.  I saw a lot of what looked like writing on the walls and pillars.”

“We’d like you to take a look at the temple, Dr Jackson, see if you can’t translate the writings, find some common ground with the people,” George asks.

“A name would be good,” Jack snipes.

“True,” Stan says wryly.  “We haven’t gotten even that from them, let alone where their homeworld is.”

“What level of technology are we talking here, Major?” Jack asks abruptly.

“The mining operation is clean and sophisticated.  No paper records of any kind.  No obvious manufacturing other than the mine, vast storehouses of perfectly preserved food supplies.  An alarm system that triggers an off-world response.  I’d say pretty sophisticated.  We haven’t seen any weaponry of any kind, handheld or otherwise.”

“So either they don’t think we’re a threat or we aren’t a threat,” Jack says dryly.  “Sir?  You want Daniel to read the runes and make nice with the natives?”

“In a nutshell, yes,” George gives Jack a cool look which bounces right off him.  “Dr Jackson?”

I look at Jack.  Oh -

“There were a lot of interesting artefacts.  Decorative looking things,” Stan says innocently.  “Huge jars and plates –“

“Probably ceremonial.”  Jack sighs as I waver.  I love him but -

“Precious metals inlaid in the pillars.  Mosaic floors.  Stunning colours.”

Mosaics?  O-oh –

“Depicting stories. Possibly myths and legends.  Reminded me of the Byzantine mosaics in Ravenna.”

Mmm.  This I HAVE to – oh.  Er -

“Get thee behind me, Kovacek,” Jack says bitterly.  “Sir, permission to – “

“Assist me with the current round of senior officer’s Performance Evaluations?  Permission granted, Colonel.  I believe Major Carter’s appraisal is overdue by almost seven weeks.”

Jack shudders convulsively.  George doesn’t ‘see’ that either.  He tells me I have a go for fifteen hundred hours – which, realistically, gives me an hour to make it up to Jack for my treachery, and something in the region of ten minutes to pack – thanks us, then kindly but firmly dismisses us.  He knows perfectly well the magnitude of the insult he’s just added to what he considers a very minor injury.

He has no idea the honeymoon is now officially over for Jack and me.  Not that we actually had all that much  - honey - in our particular moon.

No.

Stan – chuckled.

Flinty eyes quell Stan to rigid correctness.  He so at attention he’s almost twanging.  “When was the last time you had YOUR Performance Evaluation, Major?” Jack asks gently.

Stan swallows.

“It MUST be overdue by now,” Jack muses.

He knows it’s overdue, because he was late doing them last year too.  And the year before.  Like the general wasn’t supposed to see a pattern emerging?

“SG-9 is due to ship out at eighteen hundred hours, Sir,” Stan ripostes.  “SG-4 have fallen foul of some tribal – “

Seeing battle is fairly enjoined, I slip away.  Jack may outrank Stan, he may be sneaky as hell, but Stan isn’t our best negotiator for nothing.  I may get more packing done than I expected.

“DAN-iel.”

“Just – um – “ I jerk my thumb at the door and sidle a few steps closer to packing.

“Daniel?  Better take these, “ Stan turns, smiling, and slips me an envelope. “We’ve got some stills of the temple and the writing.  It may help you narrow down which reference books to take with you.”

Stan, I could kiss you!

Oh.

Um, Stan, I’m leaving now – very much for your own safety, I fear.  Uh - sorry about that.

“I’ll FIND you before you go, Daniel.”

Better be quick then, Jack.  Going NOW.

 

* * *

I reach out trembling fingers and caress perfection.  “Beautiful,” I breathe.  Vibrant.  Strong.  Such depth and clarity of –

“Jeez.  I cannot believe you are cheatin’ on me with a FLOOR,” Jack groans.  “This is like archaeological porn, right?” He leans in and snatches the photo from my covetous grasp.  He looks at it for quite some time as I hover anxiously.  “Not QUITE what I have in mind when I fantasise about getting laid.”

I read his intent and back off rapidly, colliding with my workbench. “Jack!  Not on – not – n – mmmph – OW – mmm.”  GOD, he’s STRONG.  And I find I’m minding the tap digging viciously into my – “Mmm,” hip less and less with every – “Mmm,” – passing – “Jack!” – second.  Wow.  Where did he learn to kiss like THIS?  Nibbling.  Suction.  Tongues.  LOTS of tongues.  Stroking.  Teeth.  Licking.  “Love – love you!”

“Love you too, you two-timing little gold-digger,” Jack breathes sweetly into my parted lips, caressing his cheek tenderly against mine.  “You may be sprawled all over that floor, but you’ll be thinking of me.”  I feel his smile against mine.  “Do I gotta tell you to be careful?”

“Uh uh.”

“To wrap up warm, eat and sleep?  To NOT work yourself to death?”

“Uh uh.”

“To listen to and do everything Major Simpson tells you to?”

“Uh uh.”

“Mm hm!”

“Mmm.”

“I can’t lecture and lip lock at the same – Daniel!  HOT.  You – I - ”

Hot?

“NOT my temp – for cryin’ out loud,” he snatches my hand from his brow and kisses me breathless – boneless – senseless - fearless.

Jack rests his head on my shoulder, warm hands gliding all over my spine.  “Do I gotta tell you to be careful?  Promise me?  Promise me you’ll try.”

“Promise,” I sigh into his hair.

“I – worry.”

“I know.”  I have to go soon, and we both know it.  “Jack?  I’m worried too.”

His head snaps up.  “About the mission?  Just say the word, Danny, and –“

“About Sam,” I interrupt.  “I – I want to tell her.”  Jack grimaces, not meeting my eyes.  “She’s – close - to you too, Jack.  It isn’t fair on her to leave her to work it out on her own, or hear it third hand,” I reprove him gently.

He looks up at me, searchingly.  “Not fair.”  A rough hand cups my jaw, shakes me a little.  “Not fair at all.  Don’t fret about Carter.  I’ll talk to her, straighten things out.  And I’ll talk to YOU when you come back.  Now.  Bullet point summary?”

“Careful, warm, eat, sleep, listen, do, careful,” I tick them off on my fingers.

“No stinky monsters either,” Jack orders.  “Stay off those a la carte menus.”  He sighs.  “I know it’s near impossible, but TRY not to look completely edible.”

“No overwork, no monsters – though that is simplistic in the EXTREME.  In fact – “

Jack steps back rapidly and reaches urgently for the nearest bag.  He grunts as he lifts it.  “You taking rocks WITH you?”

“Books,” I say defensively.

Jack eyes the three additional bags, all bulging.  Then he eyes the photographs cascading across my workbench. He hefts a second bag and gloats.  “It’s all squiggles and pointy bits.  Right?”

Actually, yes.  Just for the moment.  As soon as I have a frame of reference , I will of course –

“Could be a laundry list for all you know,” he’s laughing.  I hop down from my bench and grab the other two bags without the amateur dramatics HE felt were necessary.  “Or maybe a dirty story.  That’d be peachy.  Ya think they got Cliff Notes?


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slash: Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Category: Action/Adventure. First Time. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.  
> Season/Spoilers: Season 4. Follows events in The Curse and Double Jeopardy.  
> Synopsis: Daniel and Jack learn - and teach - difficult lessons in honesty and faithfulness.  
> Warnings: Minor character death. Violence. Language. Intense situations.

SAM

"Are you decent?" I call.

"Nope, so come on in, Carter," the colonel's cheerful voice replies.

I push open the gear-up room door and stroll in, grinning from ear to ear.  Daniel's departure for P4X-717 was delayed slightly because - allegedly - he sneezed in the elevator.  The colonel panicked instantly about his allergy shots and ruthlessly propelled him along to the Infirmary.

I'm hugging myself - metaphorically - in glee.  The only possible irritant in that elevator car had to be the colonel's aftershave - a nice spicy woodsy scent - and only the CLOSEST proximity could have induced a sneezing fit.  Ergo, the colonel was either hugging or kissing Daniel in the elevator.  Preferably both.  Naturally, I'm out for empirical evidence to support this supposition.

In a related matter, an ongoing source of considerable sensory pleasure to most female personnel on base - plus some of the more discerning males, and now , specifically, one colonel - Daniel wears Issy Miyake, which means he both looks AND smells divine.  It's fortunate for Daniel that he is quite shy around people he doesn't know well, or he'd be blushing morning, noon and night from all the 'interest' that's taken in him.  The majority find his modesty endearing and respect it.  Those who don't have to deal with ME. If they don't get it to my satisfaction, I go around and explain it to them.

I think it's quite sweet the colonel thinks it's HIM.  I'm not in the habit of crushing innocent masculine illusions unnecessarily, so Daniel continues on blithely unaware the better part of his acquaintance would sell their first born to get in his pants, and the colonel thinks he's intimidating.  Not a small proportion of the base would sell their second born for a crack at the colonel, another fact of which I've kept him blissfully ignorant.

It's just HELL being the most envied 2IC on base.  Without question.  Sheer - hell.

Janet had no objections whatsoever to giving Daniel a booster shot, and while she had her hands on him, a quick once over on general principles.  Daniel is in deep trouble.  Janet is MEAN. She took one look at the unique combination of stern over-protectiveness and warm indulgence that typifies the colonel's 'command' of Daniel on a good day, and realised everything was back to 'normal' between them.

I wouldn’t like to cross Janet in combat, no way.  She checked Daniel's weight.  Frowned a little.  Commented musingly that Daniel's body weight had been falling over recent months.  Not enough to cause alarm - too late! - yet a situation which would require careful monitoring - guaranteed! - to arrest the decline.  She actually used the word 'decline' in the colonel's hearing.  Twice.  The colonel's very guilty, very anxious hearing, from what Janet tells me. She's like a dog with two tails right now.  Daniel has lots of hot, nutritious, regular meals looming up at him.  Lots and lots.

Poor Daniel.  Janet says he's completely unnerved and in need of moral support and protection from the colonel.   I was going to meet up with them in the gateroom, say goodbye, give them every second of privacy - just in case - but this intelligence had me hot-footing it straight down to the gear-up room.  What could I do?  I told Janet I’d check on the fallout for her but really, it's for me.   The colonel throwing out ambiguous not to say cryptic comments, Daniel refusing to do the decent thing and blush every time the colonel looked at him?  I need to know.  I need to know NOW!

Ha!  And now I do know.  The colonel was most DEFINITELY kissing Daniel in the elevator.  And right here in the gear-up room too.  Daniel is flushed and glowing and deliciously rumpled.  Smiling at me anxiously.  He's such a darling.

I'm across the room in a second.  Note to self:  make sure the colonel FULLY appreciates just what he has in Daniel.  And what will happen to him if he doesn't.

"Sam," Daniel sighs into my hair, hugging me back.  I hear some authoritative 'get on with it, Carter' throat clearing from behind me, which I ignore.  Whatever else Daniel may or may not know, he's walking up that ramp knowing in his bones I'm still his friend.  His ribs mostly.

Eventually, I release him and step back, grinning.  Daniel is smiling that enchanting little smile, eyes warm and clear.  Then he glances past me to the colonel and just - lights up.

His shining happiness takes my breath away.  My God, I’d sell my PhD to have a man look at me like that, to FEEL that.  Anything close to that.

"Gawd," the colonel moans, "If the goons from Special Ops could see me now, I’d die of embarrassment.  Team hugs.  We carry on like this, Junior will want in on the act."

I hear every word he isn't saying.

Oh, things are better than all right.  So much better than I thought possible.  I have both my friends back.  One of them has forgiven me and the other is in a fair way to forgiving himself.

Daniel ties on his bandanna - another little quirk of Daniel's, which, along with his cams, makes a lot of us glad to be alive whenever we see him in them - shrugs on his pack and then stands patiently while I smooth one strap into place for him and the colonel fusses with the other.

We both step back, looking embarrassed.  Daniel isn’t a baby, he CAN do these things.  We KNOW that.  Because he loves us, sometimes he lets us do them for him.  When we need to.  We're going to miss him, however long he's apart from us.  He knows that, so he cuts us some slack.

I'll be sure to go straight up to the Infirmary and gloat to Janet after we've seen Daniel off.  I'm way ahead on points.  She may get to see Daniel naked but she has to be ethical about it, while I get to HUG him.

"Time to go," Daniel says cheerfully.  "I'm already late, thanks to -"

"We RE-SCHEDULED in light of some legitimate medical concerns," the colonel gets in a pre-emptive contradiction.

"The colonel is responsible for your welfare, Daniel," I say equably as we each grab a bag.  Whoa!  Has he got the kitchen sink in here?  Of course, the colonel has to be macho and take two.  "Better to fuss than be sorry," I finish without altering my tone at all.  It's a great trick for checking if someone is paying attention.  One of my instructors at the Academy used to spring tests on us that way.

The colonel pulls a face at me, but he can't call me on it because he wasn't actually listening.  Too easy.  He's so focused on Daniel right now I could turn a couple of cartwheels and he wouldn't turn a hair.  Lucky I don’t take these things personally.

As we stroll into the gateroom, I see that Major Simpson sent an escort for Daniel, his Sergeant to be precise.  The colonel is obviously pleased that Daniel's safety is being taken as seriously as he would wish, and yes, okay, that is HIM.  If anybody fails to grasp just how safe and protected Daniel needs to be, the colonel goes around and explains it to them.  If anybody so much as looks at Daniel funny, then Teal'c goes around and explains - other - things to them.  We're a hell of a team.

I have to hide a smile as the colonel imperatively summons the sergeant.  The bags are actually heavier than they look, hard though that is to believe.  I'm quite gratified when the Sergeant grunts as he takes mine.

General Hammond walks in, smiling, obviously pleased to see Daniel cosily sandwiched between two relaxed and definitely not in any way overprotective or anxiously hovering teammates.  Teal'c is standing beside the general and he isn’t overprotective or anxiously hovering either.  Nobody should read anything whatsoever into the slight smile or the soft 'DanielJackson' or the touch to Daniel's shoulder.  Or the General's quiet 'Good luck, Dr Jackson' or 'Take care'.  No sirree.

Daniel is a grown man, a very capable and intelligent man, and he most definitely does not need us to take care of him.  It's just that we're completely miserable he's being taken away from us because he's our darling. Our 'fourth' if you have to get technical.  That's all.  We love him and we don’t care who knows it.  So we'll stand here side by side at the bottom of the ramp and watch him all the way up to the event horizon.

"Daniel!" the colonel calls suddenly.  "Diachronic!"

Daniel turns with a look of surprised admiration, blushes to the roots of his hair, laughs and leaves us behind with his smile and wave lingering.

So we watch a little longer.  So sue us.

 

* * *

"You sent for me, Sir?" I ask lightly.  I don't want to push it.  If the colonel wants to fill me in on the details, it's his choice.  He has to die if he doesn’t satisfy my curiosity, but that’s for him to decide.  He's a big boy.  He can take it.  If push comes to shove, I can take him.

As I stand in front of his desk, I see - Oh GOD.  No.  Oh no.  PIE!  Lemon meringue!  It CAN'T be that time again!  He's supposed to - I'm supposed to get two weeks notice and FORMS and -

"You ever searched for your own name on the internet, Carter?" the colonel asks curiously as he pecks away at his keyboard.

"Sir?"  The threat of imminent Performance Evaluation recedes a tad.  It's his usual MO.  Every year without fail he springs it on me, late, without warning or preparation time, looking hideously embarrassed and bearing lemon meringue pie as a palliative.

"Look what I found!" he says proudly, turning the screen a little so I can suitably praise his accomplishment.  "Ignore the guy from Winnipeg," he orders, closing down the window before I have a chance to see a darn thing.  It does however give me a chance to read the first sentence of the email before he hits send.  'Undecided' of Winnipeg clearly invited people to 'Mail Me' and the colonel - er - did.  Looked like sound advice, from what I read of it.

The colonel came to the wonderful world of computers late in the game, and took to it like a fish to a bicycle.  He's a holy terror when it comes to the IT support team. Morale has plummeted since the colonel took his first tentative steps onto the World Wide Web. Plus the - Other.  Email AKA The Application We Don't Name.  The colonel's conviction he isn’t getting all of his memos, allied to a throwaway comment from Daniel about the wonders of TAWDN for smooth, rapid inter-departmental communication - the technicians are afraid.  Very afraid.  The colonel expects his computer to get him from A to D in an orderly and timely fashion.  If he winds up at E, or God forbid, gets stuck at B, he reaches for the phone and the technicians reach for the Valium.  Instantaneously in both cases.

"Who knew there were so many Daniel Jackson's in the world?" I mutter weakly.  I can't get my mind off 'Undecided'.  I hope it works out.

"THIS is what I wanted you to see," the colonel stabs the screen for emphasis.

"Daniel!"  OUR Daniel.  "Men from ATLANTIS built the pyramids?" Credited to OUR Daniel.  I'm outraged.  How DARE they?

"No wonder he doesn't like to go to those symposiums," the colonel says gloomily.  "Bastards."

Ditto.

"It's up to you, Carter.  We got pie.  We can do your appraisal or we can give these cult goombas a wake-up call they'll never forget."

And this is a difficult decision because?  "Move over, Sir," I request politely.  I sit, scroll and skim speedily.  "They have a geophysics page," I say gently.  Well, they spelled geophysics correctly, but that’s about it for accuracy.

"And astronomy," the colonel points out apropos of nothing.  "Ascension."

Ascension?  Bastards.

"Have some pie," the colonel tempts, sitting back and putting his feet up on his desk.  I notice I get the smallest piece of pie nudged companionably along the desk towards me.  I’m not surprised the colonel is worried he’s still a growing boy.

While I'm creating a suitable email alter ego, I take the opportunity to sound him out over a matter close to both our hearts.  "Sir?  If I may?  About Daniel?"  I turn abruptly and find him with a wall to wall smile, which he swallows the instant we make eye contact.  I KNEW it.  "How does HE feel about - "

"Carter?  If I may?  About your appraisal?  How do YOU feel about - "

 

* * *

JACK

I’m losing the will to live.

Forever.  That’s how long he’s been gone.  Forever or two days, depending on who you ask.  I miss Daniel.  Carter misses Daniel.  Teal’c misses Daniel.  We think it’s been forever.

I’ve got my displacement activity to keep me going.  The stuff I do in order to avoid thinking about Daniel, wanting Daniel, every second of every minute.  It ain’t working.  Three little things, all designed to stop me eating my heart out over you know who.  Carter’s appraisal.  Harassing the morons on the Men from Atlantis website.  Reading ‘An introduction to archaeology’.

Carter’s appraisal has taken almost two days to complete.  It should have taken two hours, and that only if I was going some.  Carter’s ‘exemplary record’ was set to go down the pan if she’d had her way.  It’s taken us an entire caramel apple pie from the Commissary, a shit load of polite – on her part - arguments and the dredging up of a lot of memories painful to both of us to negotiate our way to a point where we both happy with the appraisal report that went off to the general.  I hadn’t the least suspicion ‘Attitude to authority’ was a loaded question for Carter until I asked it.  She had a lot to get off her chest.  Then she got me talking about Daniel.  She’s damnably persistent and just as hard to shut up as he is, if one is dumb enough to have a moment of weakness and give her permission to speak freely.  Who knew?  Strike one for displacement.

The Men From Atlantis website, true, that’s been fun.  A small respite from a 2IC on some kind of cathartic truth/pie kick and the absence of – who am I kidding?  I’ve been hassling them, but I’ve been thinking about him.  Strike two for displacement.

The book?  Not even going there.  Foreplay.  Me talking about archaeology turns Daniel on as fast as he turns me on.  I can’t quantify what it is about him that turns me on, ‘cause at the moment it seems to be every damn thing.  I tried with the book.  I really did.  Even with the thought of a naked, turned on Daniel on my lap motivating me, I couldn’t hack it.  I didn’t hack it.  I surfed it.  I got all the stuff I need from a website.  Literally got it.  Which got me thinking there had to be something wrong with it, if I got it.  Had to be.  There is.  The site - it’s – it’s called –- ‘Dr Dig’.

He is SO going to know.

Strike three.  I’m out.  I miss him.

Major Simpson has been calling in his sit rep twice a day, and he makes sure to say Dr Jackson is well, and having fun with his temple, and getting along like un maison en flambé with the natives, and by the way, Dr Jackson says Hi!  Again.  That’s it.  Haven’t seen Daniel, haven’t heard him, haven’t spoken to him for two interminable days.

I’m so frigging depressed, I’m voluntarily hanging out in the briefing room listening to a somewhat more cheerful Carter prattling on about helioseismology.  Voluntarily.  How low can one man go?

“And of course, we know what THAT means,” Carter say brightly.  And expectantly.

I glance from the general to Teal’c and back again.  Nope.  Wrong there, Carter.  Unless that was the royal we?

Frankly, the sudden sounding of the klaxon and the announcement of an unscheduled off-world activation comes as something of a relief.  The general positively bolts for the stairs down to the gateroom, Carter hot on his heels.

After exchanging long glances of commiseration and relief, Teal’c and I follow at a slightly more moderate pace.

“Receiving IDC. Sir, we're receiving the signal on the IDC frequency but this is not an authorised SGC code,” the technician informs Hammond as Teal’c and I take up positions behind the technician.

Carter leans over and checks out the read out on the monitor.  ”It says Comtraya.”

Sounds - familiar.  Where have I – no – aww, crap.  CRAP.  Harlan?  That’s OVER.  Too much to hope for dead, but definitely buried.  I promised.  HE promised.  Shoulda KNOWN this would come back and bite me.  Shoulda gone with my gut and sent a bomb through.  Made sure.  Stupid-assed sentimental -

”What does it mean?” the general asks.

“AAHH, it's kinda like shalome or aloha, that stuff,” I groan, horrified.

”It was the greeting used by the artificial life form Harlan on PX3989,” Teal’c says calmly. He can afford to be calm, we stopped Harlan from finishing the robot HIM.  He doesn’t have another Teal’c roaming around wearing his face, thinking his thoughts, touching his -

”The one who duplicated you?”

Thinking I stole HIS life!  The ATTITUDE my copy had!

”Yes! Sir? PLEASE don't open the Gate.  Please!”

 

* * *

”I am sorry about the one called Daniel,” Darian tells my robot sorrowfully.

Daniel?  Daniel’s DEAD?  A ripple of shock runs through us all.  Hammond’s head snaps around as Harlan flinches.  Carter sits upright in her seat, fingers trembling slightly on the keys, Teal’c looks to me.  And away.  This strikes too close to the bone for all of us, we’ve come close to losing him too many times.  Have lost him.  We’ve all sworn an oath to protect him.  It was an oath of service from me, Carter, Hammond; our sworn duty to protect the civilian on our team.  To lay down our lives in his defence.  Now it’s as personal for us as it is has always been for Teal’c.  It’s not our duty to protect Daniel, it’s our right and our privilege to look out for him.  We’re the only family he’s got.

Daniel is dead.  ‘Jack’ got Daniel killed.  His Daniel.  If it could happen to – No.  Daniel is fine.  He’s fine.  When was the last time Simpson checked in?

‘Jack’ looks awkwardly over his shoulder.  I can see how edgy he is.  He’s looking at me.  He fucking should be.  He got Daniel KILLED.  He failed, and Daniel should never have been out there in the first place.

”Get over here.”

”To whom are you speaking?”

”That's Darian,” Carter recognises him once he’s in close up in front of the camera.

She didn’t spend nearly as much time with him as I did.  How did Dan – robot Daniel die?  Do they feel pain? Did he – did he suffer?  Was he alone?

”Earth. George Hammond and the other SG1,” ‘Jack’ says breezily.

I find myself leaning in again. “Hey! You're the OTHER, pal.”

‘Jack’ leans in too.  “Do we really have time for semantics here?”

Does he really have to keep doing what I’m doing?  It’s unnerving me.  He’s different.  He’s not me.  That’s why he got his Daniel killed.  He fucked up.  He did, not me.

”What exactly is the current situation?” the general asks.

”Our Daniel is dead,” ‘Jack’ says quietly.  His abject failure to protect his kids is now a matter of record.  His Daniel?  I wonder if his Daniel was HIS.

I didn’t get to talk him.  My Daniel.  He’s too busy – too far away to keep hiking back to the gate just to say ‘hi’.  He’s eating lots of hot nutritious meals whether he wants to or not.  My orders.  Getting lots of sleep.   He’s having fun.  Learning a new language.  Playing nice with the indigenous types.  Gloating over that strong, vibrant floor he was so excited about.  Plain getting passionate over any old thing.

SAFE.

When did Simpson last check in?

”Oh, my,” Harlan sighs.

”Carter and Teal'c have been captured by Cronus. He's got a ship in orbit and his Jaffa are everywhere. So it's just Darian and me.”

”Please, help us,” Darian begs.

”You have a go,” Hammond gives permission.  I turn immediately and lead my team out of the control room.  I want to help out Darian and I want to take out ‘Jack’.  He goes back where he can’t do any more harm.  No question.  What the fuck was he thinking?  Out there vulnerable like that, risking his kids with no back-up of any kind, frigging battery operated!  His fucking fault his Daniel is dead.

MY Daniel is fine.  He’s happily playing with his temple on P4X-717 and He.  Is.  Absolutely.  Fine.  I want him here, under my eye, for me.  Personal.  Simpson ain’t me, but he’s given his all so far.  No complaints.  No - worries.

I’m not ‘Jack’.  I PROTECT my kids, against their will at times, but I do it.  I’m NOT him.  Rather have Daniel alive and well and making me sleep on the couch for a month ‘cause he’s mad at me than -

Come on, O’Neill.  Focus here.  Got a mission now, got your other kids to watch over.  Can’t be fretting just because you NEED to see your lover’s face before you KNOW he’s safe.  He doesn’t need you right now and THEY do.

When DID Simpson last check in?

 

* * *

I come through the gate first, as always, heading straight over to cover the right flank, Carter taking centre, and Teal’c falling into position behind us to cover the left flank. We hold position for just a few moments before Darian steps out from the cover of the trees.

”This way,” he looks and sounds grave. Things have most definitely gone to shit.

I told them they’d be okay.  I believed they would be.  As Darian leads us confidently down the trail, I try to work out what the hell I’m supposed to say to him.  To his people.  They trusted us and look where it’s gotten them.  Out of the drying pan and into the fire.  I turn abruptly to Darian.  ”Listen, for what it's worth, I'm sorry about what's happened here.”

”Oh, I'm sure that makes him feel better,” a withering voice stops us in our tracks.  My voice.

”HEY!”  I stalk over to face ‘Jack’.  “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Getting your kids captured?  Getting Daniel KILLED?  Endangering the people of Juna and who knows how many others?  Risking the security of the SGC?

”Same thing you do. Only better.”

”What does that mean?” I demand, furious.  I’m not the one getting MY kids killed, and he’s NOT me.

”Better? It means BET-ter, strong-er, fast-er,” ‘Jack’ says witheringly.

Now that’s ABUSING sarcasm.  And it’s way past time for a reality check.  “You're NOT me and you don't work for the Air Force,” I snap.

“No. But that doesn't mean I can't do the JOB,” ‘Jack’ insists.

”What job?” I’ve seen how well you do MY ‘job’!  YOUR job ain’t it.  Shoulda stayed where you belonged.  Purpose built for YOUR job.  Maintenance!  The only JOB you had to do was keeping your kids SAFE.  And we’ve seen how well you did with that, too.

”Explore the universe. Fight the Goa'uld.”

Do the archaeologist!

SO doing him.  I can TELL.  Fight – protect - first!  Explore later.  If possible, safe.  Them’s the rules.  Or they were, until Daniel charmed his way into our psyche and ruined us for anything but SG-1 and him.  And you got him KILLED, you fucker.  ”Oh, what, like now?”  I can do scorn too.

”Hey!  YOU made this mess.”

”What we DID was help these people!” I insist. WE came here on orders, not some lone wolf ego guilt trip.  We have a mission, a purpose.  If WE die out here, it’s for a REASON, and my kids have got ME doing every single fucking thing I can to protect them and more, to see that NEVER happens.

”Oh come on, I know you better than that. You screwed up and now you're embarrassed,” ‘Jack’ curls his lip.

”That’s not the point,” I rebut with dignity.  BASTARD!  He blames ME for HIM getting his Daniel killed?  HIS fault.  Shoulda stayed where he was put, kept HIS kids safe.  Daniel – the others – they put their faith in me.  Daniel trusts me to take care of him, even when he’s mad about it, or he doesn’t see the point, or he thinks whatever he wants to do is worth risking his life over.  It’s not about HIM and it’s certainly NOT about ME.  We don’t trade our lives for NOTHING.

”And like I'm gonna spend MY eternity on that lame-ass planet? Sheesh.”

I beg your pardon.  My mistake.  Apparently, Daniel’s LIFE is an acceptable trade-off for a low boredom threshold.  Daniel died for YOU, and only you, you contemptible -  ”You gave me your WORD!”  And I was dumb enough to believe you.  I didn’t KNOW I was a lying two-faced sonovabitch.  Always thought my word MEANT something.  The kids got bored and you couldn’t resist, huh?  Big, soulful, blue eyes pleading.  You never learn to say NO?  It’s not SAFE?

”Oh, is this the first time you've LIED to yourself?” ‘Jack’ hoots derisively.

Only over Daniel.  No way he can tell I screwed that up, just by looking at me.  No way.  He was only me until I walked back through the Stargate.  There was nothing there between me and Daniel.  Not then.  No way.  I’m not THAT clueless.  Or that spineless.  He does NOT mean what I think he means.

“I told you what you wanted to hear. Besides, what were you gonna do? DESTROY me?”

”I MIGHT have!”  I frigging well should have!  Last time I cut myself ANY slack. The SOB is walking around with my face, my uniform, my rank, my team.  He’s trying to live MY life.  Past time he tried a life of his own, this one is taken.  And thank God the best part of it is dreaming over a mosaic floor on another world where none of this shit can hurt him.

”Alright, come on!  Bring it on, Fly Boy! Let's go! Come on!”

You want it?  You want a piece of this?  You GOT it!  “Oh,  you little –“  I can’t even get the words out, I just lunge forward and get him in a good solid headlock.  BET-ter my ASS!  He’s EMBARRASSING, like a pissy kid squaring off in the playground.  You can say ‘semantics’ but can you SPELL ‘mature’?   How ‘bout ‘responsible’?

”Sirs,” Carter calls.

Only ONE ‘Sir’ here, Carter.

“As much as I would like to see how this plays out, don't we have something more important to do?”

Can it WAIT?  I HAD him, another few seconds and he’d have known it too.  I wrench away from him, back off, spin round.  Glare him down.  He’s all shook up.  My heart bleeds.

”What can so few of us possibly do?” Darian asks.

”Couldn't get Hammond to spring for more troops?” ‘Jack’ asks contemptuously.

”I didn't ASK. This is our problem.”  I made this mess you couldn’t keep your nose out of, now I’ll fix it.

”I guess we can't expect any help from the rest of the Juna people?” Carter asks, though she knows the answer.

”No,” Darian confirms.

”We convinced your people to oppose the Goa'uld once before,” Teal’c prompts.

”Most, including myself, had never seen an actual God before,” Darian answers.  “Heru'ur had not come to Juna for many generations. And when Cronus arrived and displayed his great power he instilled much fear. The people are terrified,” he finishes, sadly.

”Then we must demonstrate to your people once and for all that Cronus is not a God,” Teal’c intones.

I don’t like the look on his face one bit.  I got my hands full with my other half; I don’t need Teal’c lone wolfing it too, on some noble revenge kick.  Either Teal’c.  It’s not like they’ve got a hidden agenda.

”I suppose you have a plan to back up that rather BOLD yet – cryptic - statement?” a snide voice enquires.

”YES. Yes, we do,” I jump in.  No way is HE going around thinking HE’S the guy in charge.  I’M the only colonel here.  I give the orders.  We’ll all be safer that way.

The sounding of a deep, peremptory horn makes us freeze.  I remember that sound from Cimmeria.  Jaffa.

”It is not safe to stay here. The forests are heavily patrolled,” Darian orders briskly.

”We're not done, pal,” ‘Jack’ just has to push it that bit further.

Guess he can’t spell ‘professional’ either.  Time he learned he’s nothing but a pale imitation.  ”I SO own you,” I growl and turn to follow after Darian.

 

* * *

’Jack’ is sitting at the table, with his back turned on the rest of us.  The unveiling of our ‘plan’ is not going well.  I stand by the fireplace, where I can watch everybody. I’m trying to keep my hands fully occupied, because they still want to be around his throat.  This leaves me playing with a cushion.  A kinda pretty, embroidered cushion.  Though I hope I’m coming off as a man so secure in his masculinity he doesn’t have to worry about appearances, I actually think I’m coming off as a wuss.

“The only rings I've seen were in that pyramid,” ‘Jack’ snaps.

”There is a way into the main chamber,” Teal’c assures us.

”Yeah!  By putting the robot at risk.”

I roll my eyes and decide to put the cushion to good use.  I sit on it.  ”Well fine, I'll do it.”  I dig embroidery AND shoot bad guys.  I’m well rounded.

”It's all right, I can handle it,” ‘Jack’ glances to me and away, quickly.

He’s fidgeting.  Looks uncomfortable as hell.  Completely frigging miserable.  Well, how would I feel if I’d just seen Daniel killed in front of my eyes?  I’d feel like he looks.  There isn’t a corner of my life that Daniel hasn’t eased into and which hasn’t shaped to fit only him.  I’d be wondering how I could go on without him too.  Couldn’t.  The part of my life that used to be Sara and Charlie is filled with Daniel now.  Not excluding them, just focused on him.  I can’t change that, I don’t want to.  It’s not where I ever expected to be, not loving another man and wanting to be with him, but it’s where I am, and it’s where I’ll stay.  Where I’m happy to stay.

I look at ‘Jack’ again.  Hell of a wake-up call, this.

I finally get my shit together, admit to myself and the man I love that I do in fact love him, that I want to be with him, want to make love with him, not gonna change, not gonna quit.  All that good stuff.  I was pretty secure, beginning to think I had it all.  At home, what Danny wants, I’m pretty sure Danny will get.  Complete pushover, there.  In the field, I do whatever it takes to keep him - keep ALL my kids - safe.  End of story.  I was so sure I could do it.  I HAVE done it.  With a little work, a little adjustment, I could have Daniel AND my job.  Hell, with Daniel admitting he knew my first instinct was to protect, seeming to accept it would always be that way, I was thinking I’d be better at my job.  Less of that tension that’s made me such a joy to be around these past months.  I could hardly feel any more for Daniel than I have done, but this way – with us communicating, understanding - I could be more open, more focused.

It seems simple enough.  If I can’t keep Daniel safe, either I can’t have him or I can’t have my job.  I can’t break faith between us, can’t allow my needs, my feelings to become more important than him.  Or more important than Teal’c or Carter.  First time out, I’m hit head on by a ‘Jack’ who couldn’t do it, a ‘Jack’ who fucked up royally, got his Daniel killed and his team captured.  What makes him different from me?

Is he different?

”This is very strange to me,” Darian is fascinated by having double the trouble up close and personal in his living room.

”This kind of stuff happens to us all the time,” Carter reassures.

’Jack’ seems to pull himself together and get with the programme.  His kids are being tortured by Cronus right now.  He’s got no time to mourn. He turns to face the rest of us.  ”So how many Jaffa are we gonna have to deal with on that ship?

”As many as one thousand. But that is not the problem,” Teal’c responds.

”What IS the problem?” I ask, a little taken aback.  A THOUSAND?  Versus all five of us? And that’s the EASY part?

”The rings must be activated from within the ship.”

”Now see, you didn't mention that before,” I’m annoyed with Teal’c.  Really.  Why the hell doesn’t he tell us these things sooner?  I gotta look like an idiot in front of you know who?  I screwed up by coming here, he screwed up by going anywhere.  I don’t even want to edge ahead on points, and this latest newsflash looks like a frigging TKO.

”We had very little time to formulate this plan, O'Neill,” Teal’c fails to soften the blow.

So.  Now I’m an idiot who can’t adequately threat assess and rushes blindly in where everyone fears to tread?

”It's alright. Carter and Teal'c might be able to help,” ‘Jack’ suggests.

Carter and Teal’c sit up straight and wait expectantly.  “The other ones,” ‘Jack’ says with obvious patience.

Oh yeah?  He’s dissing MY kids? I can spot a minor technical hitch in that suggestion. ”How are they gonna know what to do - and when?”

”I can communicate with them,” he says casually.  “I've been maintaining radio silence to protect my location.”

And he’s just telling us this NOW?  Has he been taking lessons from his Teal’c? “I don't SEE a radio.”

”They're internal.”

”So you can actually send a signal – “ Carter wanders a little off-point.

”Wait. Excuse me,” ‘Jack’ taps his chest.  “A little static. They said they'd do what they can.”

I close my eyes for a second.  No matter how often I see it, I will NOT get used to that.  A Jack O’Neill who comes with an operator’s manual.  Static.  Jeez.  “What about the Jaffa on the ship?”  All ‘as many as one thousand’ of them.  Our attack force reaching the dizzy heights of seven is not about to get me excited.  One of us uses a crossbow, two of us are already prisoners of the snake we are proposing to attack, and one of us appears to be out of warranty.

”Once we have reached the pel'tac, the other levels can be sealed off. Cronus will have very few Jaffa remaining for support,” Teal’c assesses.

The majority are out beating the bushes for ‘Jack’.  Which means we’re likely to have an exciting time fighting every step of the way to the fight if he doesn’t get captured quick enough.

”What do we with the other Jaffa once we've dealt with Cronus and taken over the ship?” Carter asks.  She can’t get her head around the logistics either.

”Offer them freedom,” Teal’c is glowing with righteous fervour while ‘Jack’ is still tapping his chest.  Static, for God’s sake.

Aww, Jeez. I’m starting to get that ‘Light Brigade’ feeling.  Y’know?  Into the valley of death --  It does me no credit, given the rest of us are well and truly in the shit, and how often Daniel has proved he belongs with us out here, but still, I’m glad he’s not here.

 

* * *

Carter takes cover ahead of me, gestures across the hallway to an open doorway.  I nod, then dart across, drop to a crouch on one side of the inner wall, check it out as Carter covers my six.

“Teal’c!”  Crap.  Both Teal’c’s are down, and one of ‘em is out.

I head straight over to Cronus’ prone form and check for a pulse.  Dead.  I crane over, check out the Teal’c behind him.  Leaking, not bleeding.

“O’Neill,” Teal’c’s voice is wrenched, weary.  I go to his side, kneel.  “Our father,” he falters, eyes burning up at me.

“Is avenged.  I know.  Take it easy there, big guy.”  I check his pulse.  Thready, weak.  Breathing laboured.  “Got yourself a hell of a souvenir there,” I ease his T-shirt away from the burn on his chest.  “Junior up to the job?” I ask.  Junior looks as if it could be in worse shape than the rest of Teal’c.  Sedatives have no effect on him whatsoever.  I put a field dressing over the wound.  “You wanna put yourself out, here?  While I get help for ya?  Looks like Janet gets to earn her pay for once.”

He’s too exhausted to do anything but nod, but I see pride and vindication in his eyes.  Maybe the oldest, deepest wound of all gets a chance to heal now.

Hell.  “Teal’c – can you hold on a little longer?  We got Jaffa loose all over the ship, the nearest help is on the surface.  We can keep ‘em contained for a while, but we need to land and get major reinforcements in here.  Darian can fetch some of his people to help out until I can get to the gate.  Can you talk Carter through landing this thing?”  I hate to ask, but we got no choice.  If the next snake in line steps in to take Cronus’ place, we’ve gained NOTHING.”

“Carter!  Get in here!”

“Sir,”  Carter pounces through the doorway, running over to kneel by Teal’c’s side.  She stows her weapon and tenderly strokes his sweat-damp brow.  “Teal’c,” she says softly.

“I am well,” Teal’c reassures her.

Carter bites her lip and looks at me.  I shake my head a little.  “You gotta land this thing, Carter.  I gotta get back to the surface and scare up some reinforcements.  Think you can handle it?”

“You can count on me, Sir,” Carter says resolutely.

I smile.  “I know.  Watch him.”

“Sir.”

As I leave, she’s already at the control panel, firing questions.

 

* * *

I still got no idea how those rings work.  One minute I’m on the ship, the next I’m in the audience chamber.  Beats me.  I turn and see Jack on the floor.  Darian is trying some first aid, but it doesn’t look good.  He’s still bleeding out.

”Go tell your people Cronus is dead,” I order Darian.  He looks at me gravely.  “If they still think he's a God, have ‘em come take a look.”

He nods and then strides away.  I can trust him to bring his warriors back with him to secure the area, then I really gotta book back to the gate with Teal’c.  Carter is just gonna have to wing it until I get reinforcements.

”Carter, Teal'c?” a weak, almost expressionless voice asks.

I kneel, slowly.  I try to think what I would want, if I were dying.  I love my kids.  I wouldn’t want to go to my grave knowing I’d failed them all.  I also know if I lie overtly, he’ll know.  He’s – me.  I can’t hurt him like that.  “Yours don't look so good,” I say gently.  His face is stilling.  “The real ones, they're okay.”

”Are we still so far from real to you?”

I think about Daniel, giving his life to buy his team some time and save the warriors about to be killed by Cronus’ Jaffa.  Sam battling through agonising pain to buy us the advantage we needed to take the ship and free Juna, the pain that killed her.  Teal’c dying to avenge his father and save our Teal’c.  Jack, bitching and moaning every step of the way to his end.  This end.

”No. I guess not,” I offer softly.  I don’t – gush – except to Daniel.  He knows, it’s – okay.

”Then I believe we are done,” he says just as softly.

He knows they’re gone.  The radio.  He must have felt them – lost them.  Daniel – all of them.  It comforts me a little to know that Daniel didn’t die alone.  They were all with him, I’m sure of it.  Jack has died a little with each of them, but now, for all the silence in his mind, where they used to be – he knows he’s not dying alone.  I’m here with him.  And I know he didn’t want to live alone, any more than I do.

It’s not just Daniel I’ve grown to love; it’s all of my kids.  I couldn’t be without them, not now.  We’re connected and that connection is in us, between us, not the job.  Take three years from our lives, put us through an entirely different set of experiences, and still we’d be where we are, we’d be what we are.  Not a team - a family.  Here, in our other selves, we’ve seen that to be true.  We’ve all broken every rule in the book.  We don’t know any other way.

I stay by Jack’s side and watch him slip away as the audience chamber shakes around us.  My Carter and Teal’c came through too.  We just need Danny back, and we’ll be whole again.

 

* * *

“General, it’s a MISTAKE,” I snap.  All that effort – all those lives - and we just turn around and hand the ship over to the damn snakes?  How many times do they have to fuck us over before we see sense?

“The decision has already been made, Colonel.  This is too big for the SGC to handle alone,” the general contradicts patiently.  “Jacob Carter will be here in seventy two hours to discuss moving the Tok’ra base from Vorash.”

“They’re already laying down conditions for helping?  Peachy.  Just peachy.  The day they reach out and help US is the day I –“

“Colonel!  That’s ENOUGH,” the general is unwontedly firm.  “Your protest is on record.  Now, I if I may?” he asks with heavy irony.  “Dr Fraiser?  Can you give us a report on Teal’c’s condition?”

“Sir,” Janet nods briskly.  “Teal’c’s symbiote was badly damaged during the attack.  Consequently, Teal’c’s immune system is compromised.  I’m keeping him under strict quarantine while he’s in this deep state of Kel’no’reem.  I have every expectation the symbiote will heal itself, as it’s growing stronger and less lethargic with every baseline observation we perform.  Only when the symbiote has healed itself can it begin to heal Teal’c.”

“You expect a full recovery?” I ask anxiously.

Janet smiles.  “Yes, Sir.  My major concern is avoiding exposing Teal’c to any kind of infection.  If we can see him through the next day or so, I see no reason why he shouldn’t make a full recovery.”

“The Tok’ra have been briefed.  They stand ready to assist if Teal’c’s symbiote doesn’t heal as expected, Doctor,” the general emphasises.

Yeah.  Right.

“Colonel?  Can you report on the current situation on P3X-729?”

“SG-2 and 3 have secured the ship, and the remainder of the Jaffa on board were evacuated to the surface of Juna.  Darian and the warriors of Juna are guarding the prisoners in a makeshift camp.  At Teal’c’s suggestion, we’ve got Cronus’ body in the audience chamber and Carter is co-ordinating – er – viewings for the Jaffa and the local populace.  The people aren’t exactly turning back-flips,” I explain wryly.  “They accept Cronus was no god, but they also know how vulnerable they are to attack from any other Goa’uld with a grudge or an eye to the main chance.  The Jaffa are proving easier to handle than the people of Juna.  They seem to be believing the evidence of their own eyes that their precious god was slain by a bunch of Tau’ri scum.  Carter has her hands full.  As well as keeping a lid on the POW situation, she’s also making a tentative survey of the ship’s systems to identify the key personnel required to investigate the thing.”

“The Tok’ra – “

I interrupt the general this time.  “Dollars to doughnuts the Tok’ra want us to just hand the ship straight over to them. The moment they get their hands on it, we can just kiss it and our best ever defence against the Goa’uld goodbye. If they want to use the ship, how about we ask ‘em to pay as they go?  Quid Pro Quo, and all that.”

Janet swiftly smothers a grin as I catch her eye.

“Basically, we’re hanging on by our fingernails out there.”

“You did a hell of a job, Colonel.  Be proud,” Hammond says warmly.

“I’ll have to be getting back there shortly, Sir.  Any news from Daniel?” I ask casually.  Apropos of nothing.  You know.  Not like he’s the love of my life or anything, or I miss him so much my HAIR hurts.

“SG-11 missed the 06:00 check-in,” the general says calmly.  “Which was to be expected.  Major Simpson reported he’d been warned by the locals to expect a severe storm front to move in.  With a twenty klik hike to and from the gate, I didn’t expect him to make the twice daily report.  I did however instruct him to ensure I received a sit-rep at 18:00 hours.”  His face softens considerably.  “If you think we can afford to delay your return to P3X-729 until we’ve received the sit-rep -- ”

I’m sorely tempted.  The thought of a rain-drenched Daniel is unbearably erotic, not life threatening, and Carter and the guys need me.  “No, Sir,” I say quietly.  “That won’t be necessary.  Maybe you could fill me in when I call in MY next sit-rep?”

“Of course,” he assures me at once. “Well done, people.  Dismissed.”

Janet and I rise smoothly to our feet.  “Walk me down?” I ask her.

Janet smiles and falls into step with me.

“Teal’c – “

“Really will be fine, Sir.”

“Really.”

“Really.  He’s in quarantine, he’s under close observation – “

“And Junior’s got a lot of - ”

“Kick,” Janet grins.

“Is that a medical term?” I ask, lightening up a little.

“Indeed.  I’ll be sure to include a medical update for you when you make the sit-rep, Sir,” Janet offers.

“I’m pretty sure that will have at least one of us up at 03:00,” I say wryly.  “I appreciate it,” I thank her softly.  Janet has to be one of the best things that ever happened to this command.

The klaxon sounds and we hear the announcement.  Unscheduled off-world activation.  Automatically we both pick up the pace and double-time it down the stairs, aware the general will be right behind us.  The gate activates.

“Report,” I snap at the technician as the gateroom fills with SFs on alert.

“Receiving IDC signal, Sir.”

“Authorised?” I ask.

“Yes, Sir  It’s SG-11’s code.”

I freeze.  Doesn’t have to be bad news, just because they’re checking in early.  May just be taking advantage of a natural break in the storm.  Better to check in early than not check in at all.

“Open the iris,” I order as the general pounds down the last few stairs.

“SG-11 are transmitting early, Sir,” Janet promptly fills him in.

Hammond leans over the microphone, “Stand by,” he orders the SFs.

We wait in the tense silence for each of the chevrons to lock and engage.  Familiarity does breed contempt.  I’m not lost in wonder over a wormhole tamed, I’m sweating because the goddamned gate takes so fucking long to activate.  Finally – finally - after seconds or a lifetime we see and hear the familiar ker-whoosh as the event horizon boils out of the gate and stabilises.

“Are you receiving MALP telemetry?” Janet asks, puzzled when nothing happens.

The technician types furiously and grimaces, coming up empty.  “Nothing , Sir.  Diagnostic confirms it.”

“Oh GOD!” Janet is already moving.  “Outta the way!” she ploughs through the technicians coming up the stairs for the shift change, “Medical emergency, Resus team to the gateroom,” she hollers.

The general pounces on the phone as I pull myself together and tear off after her.  Bodies.  We got bodies being tossed through the gate.  Five plus Daniel.  Four plus Simpson plus Daniel.  We got two bodies as I plummet down the stairs, three as I tear into the gateroom, the fourth as I hit the ramp.  SFs dividing, some holding position, a few rushing forward to help Janet.

DANNY.  Ohgodohgodohgod.

Janet is frenziedly checking pulses, checking for wounds, moving rapidly from one  - corpse - to the next.  I’m right behind her.  Not – none of them Danny.

I’m GLAD, God help me, I’m glad.

Janet squats on her heels by the last body, the one closest to the event horizon, the last one she checked.  Drops her head to her knees for a moment.  Takes a breath.  Stands.  Reports.

“No survivors, General.  Dr Jackson and Major Simpson are as yet unaccounted for,” Janet says steadily.  “Stand down,” she harshly orders the medical teams pouring into the gateroom.  There’s a moment of absolute stillness, then the quiet, respectful removal of the remains begins all around me.

I taste bile burning the back of my throat, can hardly hear her for the blood roaring in my ears.  Let him be alive, PLEASE, let him be alive.  PLEASE.  I can’t tear my eyes from the event horizon, find myself staring at the concrete of the rear wall as the wormhole abruptly disengages.

“Permission to take a team through the gate, Sir?” I demand.  I’m going.  Don’t make me go – through – Sir.  I feel an icy hand touch mine, look down into aching brown eyes.  Allow the hand to turn me, draw me away.

“Permission granted, consequent on the MALP telemetry,” the general snaps.  “I’m not sending you in until we have some idea of what the hell happened here.  Doctor?”

Read the runes.

“I’m ordering immediate autopsies, Sir, but my initial check suggests an energy weapon killed these men.”

Make nice with the natives.

“Get right on it,” Hammond orders brusquely.

“Sir, if I may?  The autopsies can be handled by my staff.  Colonel O’Neill is going to require back-up for the rescue mission.  With this emergency on P3X-729 taking all available manpower, Sirs, I’m it.  I volunteer for the mission,” Janet is demanding too.

“Agreed, Major,” the general capitulates at my nod.  Janet heads briskly down the ramp and intercepts one of her staffers for some rapid fire orders.

I’ve got my hands in my pockets, they’re shaking so much.  The general doesn’t waste time on useless sympathy, he turns on his heel and barks orders at the gateroom staff and the SFs, calling for Siler to get a UAV down here ASAP.  I fall into step beside him as we head back up to the control room.

“We’ll dial out, establish contact with the MALP.  If we have injured men near the gate,” the general pauses a moment.  “the MALP will find them.  Jack?”

I have to think.  I’m no good to him if I can’t clear my mind of this numbing, sullen grief.  He needs me.  “We’ve got no teams available, Sir?”

“SG-1, 2 and 3 are tied up on P3X-729.  SG-9 are negotiating for the safe return of SG-4 from - ” Hammond looks at my face.  “I’ll have to call for volunteers, Jack. I’m truly sorry.”

“Janet is a safe pair of hands.  I trust her.”  I take a deep breath.  “Daniel has made friends in the most surprising places,” I say quietly.  “I don’t think there’ll be any shortage of volunteers.”  I haven’t spoken to him since he left.  I can remember the last thing I said to him, though.  Diachronic.  A joke.  A very private, very dirty joke, just for us.  He was smiling at me.  Laughing.  Loving me.  Happy, knowing that I love him too.

Daniel is not dead.  He’s alive on the other side of that wormhole.  He has to STAY alive.  I’ll find him.  I will find him.


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slash: Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Category: Action/Adventure. First Time. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.  
> Season/Spoilers: Season 4. Follows events in The Curse and Double Jeopardy.  
> Synopsis: Daniel and Jack learn - and teach - difficult lessons in honesty and faithfulness.  
> Warnings: Minor character death. Violence. Language. Intense situations.

DANIEL

“Dr Jackson.”

“Hmm?”

The gradation in shading is exquisite.  From deepest indigo to aquamarine – the colours sing together.  It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.  So much time and back-breaking effort has gone into the painstaking laying of each tiny tessera by hand, the attention to every single detail takes the construction of this floor so far beyond craftsmanship – it’s sheer artistry.  Like a dance of light spread out beneath me.

“Dr Jackson?”

“What is it, Lieutenant?” I ask absently.

“Time to eat.”

I hear a bubble of laughter in the patient voice and look up into Lieutenant Escobar’s liquid eyes.  “Colonel O’Neill’s orders, Doctor.”

I’m going to KILL Jack when I get back.  I try the big pleading eyes but they only seem to work on Jack.  And Sam.  And Teal’c.  Occasionally, on the general too.  Lieutenant Escobar is a bit of a Janet.  Stony hearted when it comes to matters of one’s health and welfare.  He’s got children, which is a definite hindrance to me.

“Doctor, if you don’t cease and desist forthwith, I will be forced to carry out my orders in full,” Escobar is definitely laughing at me.  “No pun intended.”

Pun VERY definitely intended!  I allow myself to be led away from my floor.  The alternative is too hideous to contemplate.

I’m definitely killing Jack, no question.  He actually had the temerity to order the biggest, meanest member of SG-11 to pick me up and carry me away from my work if I wasn’t quote ‘sensible’ about eating and sleeping and taking breaks and – I’m killing him.  Maybe Escobar will hold him down for me?  Escobar is, after all, the one who decides whether I am being ‘sensible’ or not.  He’s got two children and now I have a bedtime.  I also came perilously close to having a ‘naptime’ earlier this afternoon.  Sergeant Hanrahan saw me stifling a yawn and heartlessly reported the infraction.  He was laughing too.

They need someone to laugh with.

Major Simpson is somewhat – formal – in his ways.  His rigidly hierarchical ways.  I hadn’t realised quite where I stood in the command structure of SG-11.  It’s never been an issue with Jack.  Jack bosses us all outrageously and indiscriminately.  Allegedly, I’m the mission specialist here.  A civilian mission specialist at that, the designated negotiator, and therefore other than in matters pertaining to the safety of the team, or Jack’s orders, my word is law.  Major Simpson admires educated people, and apparently I’m about as educated as people come in his rulebook.  I’m getting all due respect from my team and my team leader.  It’s slightly disconcerting.  I keep losing the thread when I talk to Simpson, my mind racing ahead, marshalling arguments, ready to convince him to do things my way, and then he throws me for a loop by just agreeing with me.   I’m perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Grinning and chatting all the way, Escobar escorts me punctiliously to the home of the Ervad, the leader of this community.  The rest of the team – including Major Simpson - is billeted together in an empty dwelling the Ervad graciously made available to them, after some sniggering over our tents, but I’m the honoured guest of the Ervad herself.

I don’t know about reading the runes, but I’m certainly making nice with the natives.  Stan Kovacek is not going to believe how little it took for me to find that ‘hook’ which so eluded him.  He missed out one key fact in the briefing.  Major Simpson summoned Stan because the Ervad asked for the ‘Ashavan’, the ‘Speaker’.  Simpson heard ‘speaker’ and presumed the Ervad meant a diplomat.  A classic misunderstanding.  The Imanish culture prizes the oral tradition for governance, law, teaching, history, and entertainment.  The quality they admire above all others is truth.  In fact, Ashavan means a righteous or just person, and in practical terms, a Speaker for their people.

Escobar peels away, still grinning, as the Ervad’s door opens wide and a huge, welcoming smile envelopes me and draws me in.

“Ashavan!”  Aethra tops me by a good six inches and my hand is engulfed in hers as she carefully shakes it.  She’s rather taken with this quaint Earth custom, but is afraid to hurt such a fragile and – um – ‘beautiful’ being as myself.  That unfortunate adjective has everything to do with the grinning from every member of SG-11 except Major Simpson.  He doesn’t grin.  He didn’t so much as clear his throat unconvincingly – unlike the rest of the team – when Aethra made this stunning pronouncement in front of the entire community and before I got out a single word of greeting in my new role as the SGC’s official negotiator.  She seemed quite awe struck, and regrettably, the murmur of agreement that rippled through the crowd was a little too much for Sergeant Hanrahan.  He was a linebacker in his school days, and seems a tad more prescriptive in his world-view than the Imanish.  Major Simpson went beyond Not Amused at that point.

After firmly but kindly dismissing SG-11 and the rest of her people, Aethra invited me - in my official capacity - into her home.  The construction is fascinating.  Smooth, solid granite external walls with a single wooden door for entrance inside.  All the windows face into the inner courtyard, a beautifully tended garden and communal eating area, and the furniture reminds me of the English Jacobean era.  Solid, durable and beautifully carved.  However, the riot of warm colours on walls, soft furnishings and decorative objects is a purely Mediterranean palette.   Though the designs are simple, the colours and materials are rich.

“Aethra,” I smile as she leads me down the hallway and out into the garden.  I don’t think Jack would approve of the way she’s holding onto my hand but I suspect he’d have to put up with it.  Aethra could take him with both of her hands tied behind her back.  She’s a fiercesome woman.

“How goes the day, Ashavan?” Aethra asks pleasantly as we take our places at the large, round table.  It’s round so everyone can see and more importantly talk to everyone else.  The Imanish would die without conversation.  I receive a chorus of acknowledgements and food is companionably passed around, amidst much good-humoured joshing.  There’s a certain feeling I need fattening up, perhaps because my lack of stature suggests fragility.  The Imanish are built on an epic scale.  Even Teal’c would seem svelte by comparison.

The food is excellent.  Hot meats, fresh breads, salads and fruits, and this incredible iced fruit punch that fizzes on the tongue like sherbet.  My obvious enjoyment of this mild beverage has netted me a flagon at each meal to take back with me to the Dar-e Mihr, which is the name of what was assumed incorrectly to be the temple.  It is in fact a moot hall, a forum for a tradition known as the Arash.

The construction of the Dar-e Mihr reminds me of a basilica, with the oblong shaped outer hall and the semi-circular apse that forms the Sanctum, where the Asha takes place.  The double colonnades, where I spent so many constructive hours with Keril yesterday, are classic too.  I can’t see any evidence the walls have ever been painted; unlike a Christian basilica, all of the decoration is focused on the mosaic floors, perhaps deliberately so, to draw your eyes always to the Codex carved into panels on the walls and on the pillars of the colonnades.

Naturally, a culture that prizes the oral tradition and communal living would need a focus for those customs to be practiced.  Ideas, histories, stories, and policies are debated, disputed and delighted in by turn.  The Arash is also the focus of the legal system.  I haven’t been able to figure out quite how that works, but the Arash is the forum in which the truth of a case is determined and the commensurate punishment debated.  There are Ashavan who Speak for those of the Imanish who wish it in such cases of law, but primarily the Ashavan are teachers, historians, philosophers.

Within the span of one ‘welcome’ meal with Aethra and her small team of administrative staff, I was promoted from another pleasant Earth curiosity to Ashavan, some friendly questions having led me to explain my function as an archaeologist.  With such a curious, receptive audience I got rather carried away in my responses.  I – er – lectured them in point of fact.  Perhaps a little more passionately than I normally have the opportunity to be.  They were far more interested in the ancient cultures and the history than they were in the science, and peppered me with questions.

Somehow we ended up debating democracy.  I got my butt kicked on that one.  The Imanish LIVE by the people, for the people.  They have the technology and the culture for an inclusive system of governance.  Everyone can and does vote, and their ruler is an elected king, the Ardashir.  Aethra and all the rest are very proud of their Ardashir.  He’s been re-elected no less than four times now, purely because he’s done such a good job and the majority of people agree.  Our democratic system looked feeble in practice, though the moral imperative was one the Imanish applauded.  Aethra didn’t actually say ‘very young’, but she was definitely with the Nox in spirit.

I say one meal.  It was a rather – protracted - meal.  We started at around ten pm and we were all still there at around three am.  Still going strong.  After the dessert arrived – a spectacular sorbet served in an ice bowl filled with flowers – I was encouraged to drink from a flagon that turned out to be nowhere near so innocuous as the sherbet.  This flagon had some kind of rich, mellow, herb and honey-tasting drink.  I kept sipping and Aethra kept refilling and I broadened my range a tad, recounting some ancient legends, which led us on to the subject of literature.  I rounded out my evening and my recitation with some quotes from my favourite authors, and a little poetry.

Now I’m being hailed as the Ashavan of my people – all five of them - and have been more or less given the keys to the city.  And last evening, to the transport system, which makes Major Simpson’s life a lot easier.  I’m still working on the keys to the mine, mostly by working in the Dar-e Mihr.  I think the best way to negotiate is to get a ‘feel’ for the people I’m negotiating with.  With Aethra’s permission I spent the whole of yesterday and this morning in the Dar-e Mihr with a guide, Keril.

Keril is very young, no more than twenty by our measure of time.  He’s just finished his formal education and came here to see more of the Imanish people than he is actually related to.  He was thrilled to be chosen for the ‘honour’ of translating for me, and his meticulous explanations and illustrative examples show just how well all the Imanish are taught to Speak.  We’ve rarely met a people so confident, curious and receptive.  I miss Jack terribly, but I’m so enjoying my time here, I feel almost guilty.

From Keril, I’ve managed to grasp the basics of how Imanish society works, and as with my negotiations, the Arash is the key.   The writings identified within the Dar-e Mihr are a Codex, the laws which sanctify the seeking of Truth through the Arash in all its forms, from the bringing of law to storytelling.  The very fact a society could be so united in purpose such a system works is enough to set my imagination afire with possibility.

Technologically, we have nothing to offer the Imanish.  The transporter system alone was enough to tell me how far in advance of us they are.  The system seems to work like a Stargate in the sense, each node or prospective 'destination' on the transport network has a unique address and you simply dial it up and stand on the platform. A nanosecond later you are somewhere else.  I have no idea how it does this, and Aethra isn’t telling, but she has shown us how to operate the dialling programme and given Simpson a control pad so he can transport between here and the Stargate quite freely in order to give the general the requisite mission reports.

I negotiated the concession.  We may not have any technology the Imanish have a use for, but we do have something they prize highly.  Histories.  Philosophy.  Stories.  Poems.  Songs.  The vast and varied history, cultures, myths and literature of our world.  I tested out my hypothesis at evening meal last night, sharing ‘The Book of the Dead’ with Aethra, Keril and the gang.  At the end of my rendition I stood and called ‘Kriya’, which Keril explained was the ritual exchange of Asha, of Truth.  We should have been within the Sanctum of the Dar-e Mihr for that, but they indulged my innocence and judged my words had Truth, or Asha.  The exchange for my story was access to the transport system.

I can see the way forward is to offer the Imanish the body of literature we have in return for the mining concession, but the requirement for oral delivery is more problematic.  I think the general will go for stationing someone here to participate in the Arash on a regular basis, and to make the exchange of our culture for their mineral.  I don’t think we’ve ever had the opportunity to gain so much for so little cost to ourselves.  The exchange of ideas, of cultural enrichment, it’s the embodiment of my dream of peaceful exploration.

I’m not rushing to make a recommendation; four years under Jack’s tutelage has been more than enough to convince me idealism just isn’t safe.  I will check.  And double check.  I will live among these people and learn all I can of them and from them.  I won’t risk lives on a gut feeling this is the right thing to do.  I want to be sure.

“Ashavan?”

“What is it, Aethra?”

“Your Major has requested to learn of our defence systems.  Is this YOUR wish?” Aethra asks with unwonted seriousness.

It isn’t my wish at all, but it is my duty.  The general was most explicit in his request we do all we can to determine if the Imanish will make good allies, and if so, to secure their goodwill.  “It is my duty,” I answer ruefully.

Aethra is staring at me intently.  “I see the Asha of that – I think!” she adds, green eyes twinkling at me.  “Your face is hard for me to read, Ashavan.  You are so little.”

And so pink, too, as a rich chuckle rumbles in Aethra’s chest.  “We will go now, then, and you will see all there is to see.  Kriya?” she prompts, teasing.

“How can I make a True exchange if I haven’t SEEN your defence systems?” I challenge.  “I could give you the world for a bow and arrow.  A primitive projectile weapon,” I add when Aethra looks blank.

“Ah, we have THOSE, Ashavan, but not for our defence.” Aethra turns abruptly to the table at large, grey hair swinging around her shoulders.  “The Ashavan wishes to learn of Yasna!”

“Learn?” Keril answers merrily.  “Play!”

“We have work,” Aethra contradicts, with a complete lack of conviction.  A chorus of voices shouts her down.  “PLAY!”

“They are such children, Ashavan,” Aethra excuses, grinning like a fiend.  She bounds to her feet.  “Come.  See.”

“PLAY!”

Laughing a little myself, I’m drawn along with a merry, excited party out of the house and over to the central square of the village.  Keril sidles closer, “Now you will see why all the windows are on the inside, Ashavan.  We do not make war, we play Yasna.”

Several participants tumble out of Aethra’s house carrying – it can’t be!  HOCKEY sticks?  I know hockey, or rather the earliest variation of a stick and ball game, has been theorised as a pagan fertility ritual, something I do plan to share with Jack when I get home, but we’ve never yet encountered an alien culture that mirrored this development.   Looking at the avid expressions as two teams of six extremely combative players form, Aethra and Keril included, I can only regret Jack isn’t here to see this with his own eyes.

Perhaps not.  Hockey playing aliens?  I’ll never hear the end of it.

 

* * *

I sidle off the field of battle, totally embarrassed; Escobar, Hanrahan, Tomelty and Dawes right behind me.  Major Simpson’s hazel eyes are cool as he takes in our general state of déshabille and my unmistakable air of triumph.  He’s such a killjoy.  I scored a goal, and Aethra is still snarling, so I know she didn’t let it get past her.  Jack would have cheered himself hoarse.  Correction, Jack would have been out there playing while he cheered himself hoarse.

“Ashavan?” Keril – our team coach – queries hesitantly, eyes on Simpson.

“Congratulations, Doctor, gentlemen,” he nods dourly to his men, who take the hint and clear the area with great rapidity.

“Just cementing Earth-Imanish relations,” I supply, a little too breathless to be insouciant, but I do try.  I feel Jack would expect it of me.  “We only lost by – by –“

“Dey-pe-Den,” Keril supplies obligingly.

“Eight goals,” I translate.  “Which is EXCELLENT for our first time.”

“Ashavan?”  Aethra looms us behind me, giving Simpson a look that would have made me step back.  “Is all well here?”

“All is well,” Simpson answers smoothly.  “It’s just that General Hammond requested me to detail your defences in this evening’s report.”

After staring at Simpson a moment longer Aethra looks to me and her face clears.  “You may report that our defences were excellent.  The people of Earth were ‘slaughtered’.”

I snort indignantly.  She got that word from me!

“Though they acquitted themselves with honour,” Aethra concedes grudgingly.

Yep.  Jack would fit RIGHT in here.  He’d love this place, love these people.  I wish – I wish he was here.  I miss Sam and Teal’c too, of course, but I want Jack.  Really WANT him.  In the biblical sense.  We’ve only been here two nights and already I’m having the most intense erotic fantasies of my life.

“Could we see your planetary defences now?” Simpson asks with obvious patience.

Aethra looks to me.  My mouth has gone dry, so I simply nod, and we turn and stroll off through the village towards the transport platform.

I’ve seen Jack naked.  Felt the solid, vital weight of him above me.  Kissed him.  Touched him.  I want to make love with him, for my sake, not his.  I love him, and now I know he loves me. We don’t have to rush into anything.  I know Jack won’t push me into – um – anything before I’m ready, just as I wouldn’t push him.  If he’ll ever be ready, that is.  He might not want – it’s – it’s difficult to imagine Jack making himself so vulnerable to anyone.  It’s still difficult to imagine, full stop.  I hope Jack doesn’t have high expectations with all his experience of the interesting stuff, but if he does, I’m not at all sure I can deliver. I’ve never even touched another man in my life.  I’ve barely touched Jack.  He’s so – so passionate.  He wants me so much, I don’t want to disappoint him.

“How does your military work?” Aethra asks Simpson.  “I see that you tell the others what they must do.  Of the Imanish, only the Ardashir may so instruct.  He has earned that right and it is his responsibility to use it wisely, and with discretion.”

“The military is hierarchical,” Simpson answers pleasantly enough.  “There are ranks, each rank with more responsibilities and a wider scope of duties than the ones below it.  I have the highest rank here, so I must order the men to fulfil their duties.  Those who are of lower rank do not have the right to question orders given to them by anyone of a higher rank.”

This is clearly anathema to Aethra.

“It’s not just about giving orders, Aethra,” I interject.  “Those of a higher rank take responsibility not just for giving the correct orders, but for protecting the lives and welfare of the men they command. And they are ultimately accountable for the actions of the men under their command.”

“I see,” Aethra muses.  “And what of your place, Ashavan?”

“I’m not a member of the military.”

“That is well,” Aethra replies warmly.  “You could not Speak if your laws bade you hold your tongue!”

“Dr Jackson would never be bound by such a law,” Simpson says wryly.  “He’s above caring about such things.”

“Above?” Aethra asks softly.  “Yet you must hold your tongue, Major?”

“Sometimes.  I receive my orders from those of a higher rank than me.”

“My role is different, Aethra,” I frown at Simpson.  “It’s MY duty to present all possible options, even those the military officers might sometimes not consider.”

“To make sure we do the ‘right thing’.  Dr Jackson is noted for being the conscience of his team.”

“Team?” Aethra queries.

“My people, my community.  But that isn’t really an accurate description of what I do – “

“No, Ashavan, it is not Asha.  You Speak for your people,” Aethra smiles warmly at me.  I smile back, though I still think she’s missing the point a little.

 

* * *

“The last time I saw a weapon ANYTHING like that was on Tollana.  Chancellor Trevell assured us a single ion cannon was enough to repel a Goa’uld attack,” I confirm for Simps – for 'Jonathan'. “And we saw ample proof of that.”

“How does this compare, Daniel?” he asks.

Weird?  The good major takes one look at a really BIG gun and we - um - bond?  I was barely comfortable calling Major Misery 'major' and now I'm floundering along in the Jonathan 'n' Danny show.  Try as I might, and as often as he keeps reminding me, I just can't remember to call him Jonathan.

The smiling too. Can't take the 'careful' smiling.  It's as if he's trying the smiles out to see how I react.  The effect on me is not unlike fingernails scraped down a blackboard.  I wish Jack was here. He's good at people like Simpson, mostly so I don’t have to be.  He simply puts them out of our way if they annoy me.

I like Lieutenant Escobar, he's open and interested, good with his men and the Imanish alike.  And with me.  Despite his zeal in enforcing certain instructions, zeal which would make Jack proud, Ramon has a definite sense of humour.  Jack makes things easy for our team whenever he can. I miss that.  I miss them.  There are no jokes here, no teasing or laughing.  No joie de vivre.  Not when the major is around anyway.

If I went off into one of my 'moments' around Simpson, I'd - I’d be embarrassed.  Jack is all peaks and troughs, yet he gets it.  He gets me.  Simpson is the original fence sitter, a politician through and through.  He's careful of everyone and everything.  I suspect he'd rather not try at all than try and fail.

I feel as if I'm being threat assessed.  Every word weighed and judged against a simple measure:  will it help or hinder Simpson.  I don't think he is helping the negotiations.  Aethra tolerates him, and he just can't find any common ground with the Imanish.  Every comment he makes seems to require clarification.

Jack and the ebullient Imanish are made for one another.

Perhaps it's just me.  Perhaps I'm so focused on Jack I'm not capable of seeing Maj - Jonathan - for what he is.  He just isn't Jack.  I'm not judging him fairly.  It's possible.  I'm eating, sleeping, dreaming and talking Jack.  I want my colonel, not Simpson.  I can't tear my mind away from Jack, or from what will happen between us when I get home.

I'd love to ask Jack to come here in Simpson's place, but I can't.  My motives are impure - heart stoppingly so - and the military takes things like replacing commanding officers seriously.  I can't get rid of the major just so I can BE with the colonel.  Preferably ‘be’ with him doing the interesting stuff in that huge wooden bed.  Jack could do a lot with that bed.  And with me.  He's talented.  And resourceful.  And hot.

Simpson is prowling around the Dar-e Mihr, restlessly touching the artefacts.  He stops abruptly by a huge engraved plate and leans over to admire the smooth silvery sheen.

“I’d say honours were even between the Tollan and the Imanish,” I hover anxiously, “Please don’t handle the artefacts, Maj - um - Jonathan.”

He turns and smiles.  “Sorry.  I’m used to seeing these things in museums.  It’s difficult to adjust to seeing precious objects left lying around in the open like this.  I’ve always liked silver.”

“White gold,” I correct absently. “Um - which museums?” I enquire cautiously, glad of finding even a little common conversational ground.

“The Museum of Modern Art and the Victoria and Albert in London are my favourites.”

“The V & A has some stunning exhibits,” I say hopefully.  I feel guilty.  Perhaps he's not a total loss after all.

“About the weapons?  Were the Tollan weapons that size?” Simpson asks casually.

“No, much, much bigger.  These are more advanced, I guess.”

“Like field artillery.  Mobile,” Simpson supplies when I look blank.

“They do have those inertial dampeners on them, so I suppose they would be mobile.  Sam – Major Carter – told us that’s how Goa’uld Death Gliders work.  They take gravity out of the equation.  Um - Jonathan?  Please.”

Simpson removes his gently stroking finger from a jewel encrusted ceremonial jar and backs away, hands held high in apology.  “Sorry, Daniel.  Just can’t resist temptation.  I’ll keep a safe distance.”  He wanders over and sits gracefully on my floor.  He’s sitting on the face of Amurdad, one of the earliest Ardashirs, which seems disrespectful to both the Ardashir and my floor, but I seem to have hit that point where I have to persevere in being nice to him precisely because it's taking such an effort, so I can’t call him on it.

“I bet the Goa’uld would really like to get their hands on a weapon like this.”

“Oh, yes,” I sit near him.  On a geometric pattern.  “They’re parasites in the true sense of the word.  They have to steal everything.”

“Impossible to negotiate with them.”

“No-o.  The bounty hunter Aris Boch managed it by giving the Goa’uld what they needed and by being worth more to them alive than dead.  The assumption of deity is a corner stone of their culture, and they’ve embedded ‘honour’ as a means of social control amongst the Jaffa.  They will keep their sworn word if breaking it means losing face.  Apotheosis gives great power, but it also restricts.  It’s static.  Stifling, if you will.  Power is concentrated in the hands of a small, exclusive band of System Lords who are constantly jockeying for position.  The racial memory all Goa’uld share is supposed to bind the Goa’uld within one ‘family’ or ‘clan’ closely together, ensuring support for the System Lords from those they can trust."

"Does it work?"

"You only have to look at the culture of patricide that existed in the ancient kingdoms to see how well it works," I say dryly.  "The System Lords are constantly vying for power, battling amongst one another and having to fend off attacks from within their ranks, too.  This constant turmoil is the only thing that prevents the Goa'uld from OWNING the galaxy.  If one System Lord was to rise to outright dominance, he would overwhelm his enemies and claim everything that was theirs."

"I've had briefings on SG-1's recent run-in with Apophis.  I understand your last mission with Jacob Carter helped Apophis significantly on his way to accomplishing precisely that.  Heru'ur was killed and it's now open season on his assets.  Fewer System Lords left, so they just got a whole lot more powerful."

I'm stung not just by his criticism, but by the calm, measured tone.  "We weren't to know Apophis would sacrifice an entire FLEET to take out Heru'ur!"

"That merely suggests to me he's more of a threat than we've been prepared to accept.  He could afford the loss."

"We're well aware of the danger," I say stiffly.  "Jacob, the Tok'ra AND the Asgard have made it crystal clear to us that we can't allow any one System Lord to dominate."  Jack, Jacob and Selmak argued loud and long every single interminable minute of the way back from the Tobin System.  Jack's 'the only good snake is a dead snake' position will never win him points with the Tok'ra, and he seemed to think Major General Carter was going native on us.

"Do the Tok'ra stack up as a serious threat to the Goa'uld?" Simpson asks.

"They're infiltrators.  They've chosen to undermine the Goa'uld covertly, keeping the System Lords unstable and striving for power amongst themselves."

"You've changed the balance of power for the worse, though."  Simpson muses.  "Nothing personal, Daniel," he adds calmly.  "That's just a statement of fact.  I don’t disagree with Colonel O'Neill's tactical decisions.  The Tok'ra are terrorists, and I don’t blame the colonel for not trusting them, or relying on them."

I think he's a little harsh in his judgement, but I have to admit his sentiments are mild compared to Jack's.  "Colonel O'Neill's opinion of the Tok'ra is as well known as it is uncomplimentary.  I would say that sometimes their agenda is a little different than ours, they seem to think long term, for perhaps obvious reasons.  Their tactic is attrition.  Like the Ree Tou, who chose to eliminate the threat humanity posed as potential hosts for the Goa'uld rather than attack the Goa'uld themselves."

"The Tok'ra are constantly scrabbling around looking for any advantage they can use against the Goa'uld, right?  Haven't they approached the Tollan and the other more technologically advanced races for help?"

"The Nox and the Tollan won’t give military or technological assistance of any kind," I say firmly.  "And the Asgard are as concerned about maintaining the status quo as the Tok'ra.  They can 'manage the conflict' so long as it remains internecine."

"If the Tok'ra had a chance to take out the fleet of the most powerful System Lord, undo the damage that we've done to the status quo, do you think they'd take it?" Simpson asks, curious.  "Would they grasp an opportunity to throw Goa'uld society into complete turmoil for years to come, as the wannabes fight it out to lead the pack?"

"I suppose," I hesitate.  "They've been 'managing the conflict' for two thousand years now.  They're very experienced in the ways of their enemy.  I suppose they'd grasp ANY tactical advantage they could."

Simpson grins suddenly.  "Sorry, Daniel.  I'm into military history in a BIG way - campaign tactics fascinate me.  Expedience is the primary motivation for any strategy.  It just seems to me the Tok'ra tactics are ineffectual.  They're failing.  They've been failing for two thousand years.  Perhaps it's time they found another way."

"Until we can find an advanced culture willing to share its weaponry - " I shrug helplessly.

"You don't put a loaded gun in the hands of a child," Simpson says dryly. Then he catches my eye and winces.  "I'm SORRY, Daniel, that was a shitty thing to say.  I didn't think."

I don’t know which stings more, the words or his acknowledgement of my reaction.  Through Jack, Charlie has become part of our lives.  It was losing Charlie that brought Jack to me.  And obviously he’s now a staple of base gossip.  Jack's tragedy dished up alongside the coffee in the Commissary.

“I am sorry, Daniel.  I know how tight you guys are,” Simpson acknowledges softly.  “Everyone knows.”

“We’re a team.”

“I meant you and the colonel,” he says gently.

I’m annoyed to find myself blushing a little.  REALLY got to work on my poker face.  Simpson smiles a little.  Knowingly.

Is he saying – he can’t be.  HOW could ANYONE know?  It just happened.  I’m getting paranoid.  Seeing subtext that isn’t anywhere but in my imagination.  Nobody has the least idea Jack and I are lovers.  Not actually lovers in the literal sense – at least not YET - but spiritually, emotionally – definitely.  Will be working real hard to remedy ‘physically’ the minute I get home, destruct testing Jack’s resolve vis a vis easing me into intimate relations gradually.  And possibly posthumously, if his reaction on the Philae was any indicator.

Simpson’s grin grows as he shakes his head at me. Meaningfully.  “Don’t sweat it.”

Oh my God.  He CAN’T mean – he DOES.  Oh GOD.  How?  We haven’t done ANYTHING.

“Daniel, could you speak to the Ervad about accessing their computer system?”

“Oh – oh – I’m not sure she’d – “

“Access to their data would speed up the negotiation process, and you could use it as an opportunity to learn more about their culture.  For serendipity, if for no other reason?” he suggests.  “We want to offer them a fair bargain for the mineral, after all.  The more information you get access to, the more likely it is you’ll hit on something we have that they don’t.”

I’m already reeling from the revelation that Jack and I are old news.  I’d rather die than admit to this – this GOOMBA that my kick-ass negotiation strategy is likely to be codenamed ‘Operation Once Upon A Time’ the moment Jack manages to stop laughing long enough after hearing about it.

I could – I could curl up and DIE.  How dare people ASSUME?  Did everybody assume except Jack and I?

Does Jack KNOW?

Simpson jumps up and heads briskly over to the door, where he turns and looks at me, not unkindly.  “An inter-galactic bounty hunter?” he asks abruptly, quizzically.  “Don’t tell me the colonel didn’t call him Bobba all the way through that mission!”

“Boch gave as good as he got.  He teased me relentlessly.  Said I would only fetch a day’s rations,” I’m desperate to change the subject.  I don’t know why I’m so annoyed people think Jack has been ‘doing’ me all this time, when in fact I’m as pure as the driven snow.  Maybe it’s because I’m as pure as - he hasn’t even TOUCHED me anywhere interesting except for – and even then he swore his hand slipped.  “He hated the Goa’uld with a passion, even though he worked for them.  His people were deliberately addicted to a substance called Roshna.  That’s how the Goa’uld subjugated and enslaved them.  His people would die without access to the Roshna, and the Goa’uld control the supply.  Aris himself was addicted.  It was Roshna he traded for.”

“You were glad to see the back of him.”

“Pretty much.” Okay.  Better.  Calmer now.  “Boch wouldn’t hand over either Teal’c or the Tok’ra Korra to Sokhar in the end.  Sam – Major Carter – thought he would make a valuable ally against the Goa’uld, even if we do need to keep him where we can see him.”

“Keep your enemies close?” Simpson smirks.

“Yes.  Janet – Dr Fraiser - has been analysing the Roshna, in case there’s anything in it we can safely use to make us non-viable hosts.  Last I heard, Boch was running some errands for the Tok’ra.  It annoys the hell out of both Jacob AND Selmak that they have to pay him.”

“Sounds like he’d sell his own mother.”

“Boch is arrogant and manipulative and we only have his word that his word is good on over two thousand planets.  Because he’ll deal with anyone who can pay, he’s got contacts everywhere.  Probably baying for his blood in the majority of cases,” I acknowledge wryly.  “His love of remuneration is only equalled by his hatred of the Goa’uld.”

“What a guy.  Bet you keep his number on speed dial.”

 

* * *

“Aethra?” I call hesitantly.  Aethra and her staff appear to be holding a formal meeting.  I’m not misled by the fact they’re sprawled all over the grass in the garden.  Looks like serious stuff.  Aethra smiles broadly, which encourages me to think an interruption would be welcome.  I hurry across and sit next to her.

“Would it be possible for me to access your computer records?” I ask hopefully.  Translating the Codex has been fun with Keril's help, but it's an infinitely small taste of what these people have to offer and I want MORE.  This is a NEW language, completely new, the kind of challenge I haven't tested myself against in years.  So many races brought from Earth, so many variations of what I already know, subtle and complex, true, but languages known and learned afresh.  So many advanced cultures who use the same tired lingua franca, the same common root language.  I want this, want the chance to immerse myself in a new, LIVING language, a unique living culture, and my time here is so limited if I'm to fulfil my duties on this mission.  The Imanish deserve our respect and our understanding, they deserve allies they can trust, so the more I can learn the more whoever is to come here after me and serve as intermediary will know, and the more honest this exchange will be.

“With your permission, Ashavan.”

I turn to the speaker, a woman of about Jack’s age, with magnificent auburn hair and warm, sherry-coloured eyes.  I see laugh lines at the corner of her eyes and mouth.  I smile involuntarily.  I think I spy a kindred spirit.

Aethra grins at the newcomer.  “Ashavan, this is Erigone, Dahman of our community and of our Dar-e Mihr.”

“Dahman?”

“Dahman is Keeper,” Erigone tells me, the soft voice mirroring the gentle gravity of her face.

“Keeper of knowledge,” I guess.  Erigone must be the equivalent of a librarian.

“Creator also,” Aethra interjects, her eyes dancing.

“A scribe?” I ask.  “The writer of the official records of the community and the Arash?”  Idiot.  Oral tradition.  “You keep an aural record of the Arash?  A record the people can hear, can listen to,” I elaborate.

“Yes!” Erigone’s eyes light with pleasure.

“The cataloguing of the transcripts must be very complex and difficult.  Indexing - recording - of all the subjects covered in the Arash must be a HUGE task.”

“Not huge, no,” Erigone shakes her head and moves over to sit by me.

She really is a librarian.  I never met one yet who won’t cheerfully forget about irrelevancies like you being thirty seven books OVER your twenty book limit, or owing more in fines than the Bolivian National Debt, if you so much as hint at difficulties re cataloguing finds or organising field data and ask professional advice.  Not that I’m manipulative.  I’ve always thought those things were irrelevancies too, and I’ve had an unshakeable conviction since I was about four years old that the natural place for a book is in my hands.  Every book.

Librarians look after books and they also feel the natural place for a book is in someone’s hands, being read.  From time to time they like to check their books are still okay, and being treated with the respect they deserve, but it’s a small price to pay.  Figuratively speaking.  I was the darling of the Institute Library.  Fines waived, key to the photocopier, my own weight in obscure tomes from the British Library, allowed to take reference books o-u-t, out.  Inducted into the mysteries of successful Boolean search strings.  I had to put up with being called 'sweetie' by Joyce, the Department's librarian, but given she was old enough to be my grandmother and fed my addiction for homemade chocolate walnut cookies and made me quite magnificent sandwiches whenever I had lunch with her in her office, I found I could bear the indignity very cheerfully.  I did ask Joyce why 'sweetie', and apparently it was because I was an absolute sweetheart.  There really isn't any answer to that.  It's lucky I don't worry about my masculinity.

"The 'indexing', as you say, is intuitive, Ashavan," Erigone tells me, leaning in confidentially.  "All key words are recorded and may be searched upon.  Queries are natural language, and usually spoken, though there is a device with which one may physically enter a query.  We simply ask and the system will find.  If too much is found, the system will ask for more data, to narrow the search."

"Artificial intelligence!" It's very exciting.  AI is in its infancy on Earth.  "The enquirer engages in a dialogue with the system?  Sam, my friend, a scientist, would LOVE this."

I beam at Erigone and she beams right back, hitching just a little closer.  There are deep, theatrical groans from everyone else.  I feel slightly embarrassed, but Erigone just sniffs and snaps out a word I can deduce the meaning of from her body language alone.  Philistines, or the Imanish equivalent.

"Go!" Aethra waves a dismissive hand, "Leave us poor mortals be, and take your talk of records and indexes and words with you."  She then winks at me to palliate all that laughing severity, and Erigone rises smoothly to her feet, automatically reaching down a hand to help me up.

I glance up at Erigone ruefully as a chorus of good humoured catcalls speeds us on our way.   I've pretty much accepted that my comparative lack of stature has the Imanish instinctively reacting to me as to a child, my status as Ashavan notwithstanding.  Jack would thoroughly approve of the care they are taking of  me.

"Ashavan?  How will the records be of use to you?" Erigone asks pleasantly as we wend our way through the town towards the Dar-e Mihr.

"I want to learn more of your people, your history and culture," I say cheerfully.  I’m warming a little to Major Misery.  It’s not every day an Air Force officer suggests I do something for serendipity, or that the Air Force wants me to do exactly what I want to do.

"The oral histories will be of great help to you then," Erigone smiles approvingly.  "We all speak this common language in everyday matters, for practice you understand?  It is best to know the ways of the races with which we trade, yes?"

"Absolutely."  I've grasped that all the Imanish are functionally bi-lingual, and in some cases multi-lingual.

"The histories are in our language, as are the records.  We do not make them known to off-worlders, but you are Ashavan, and so we judge the case differently.  It is well,"  Erigone says serenely.  "Keril tells that you show great artistry and skill as a linguist."

I flush.  "I've studied the written and spoken word for half my life."

"This we can see," Erigone glances down at me, smiling indulgently.  "Your passion and your Asha do you great credit, Ashavan.   To love language as you do is a joy, for the beauty of the words, yes, but also for the beauty of ideas and the knowing of those who think and speak and write so.  If it is your desire to learn to know us, so it will be."

"It is my desire, very much so," I agree, surprising a chuckle out of Erigone with my eagerness.

"It has been seen that you have a recording device of your own manufacture.  If you will trust this device to me, we will see what we may accomplish by way of teaching our systems to talk with each other," Erigone offers.

"My device is called a laptop, Erigone, and it isn't terribly sophisticated even by Earth standards, " I admit.  The device in question is being used to upload digital footage of the mosaic floor in the Sanctum of the Dar-e Mihr.

"That is matterless, " Erigone shrugs.  "My device IS sophisticated and once it is seen how your data is structured, stored and transmitted, I will be able to place a lexicon onto your 'laptop', which you may use as a key to the translation of the histories.  Perhaps some language exercises will be beneficial?  It seems to me to be a matter of reversing what we know.  If we begin with our language in order to learn the common language, then you may begin by knowing the common language and can learn ours.  You will have the answers, and must learn the questions!"  Erigone chuckles, clearly tickled by the concept.

“Language exercises?  Intended for whom?” I smell a trap.  I’ve been on the receiving end of library humour before, though cookies normally soften the blow.

Erigone’s eyes sparkle.  “Be not afraid, Ashavan.  If a child of five summers can rise to the challenge, can not you?” she taunts, dulcetly.

Wow.  If I’m good, I can attain the proficiency of the average five year old Imanish child.  And if I can’t, Erigone gets to enjoy a good laugh at my expense.  “Do you have more advanced exercises for me?  If you could download them onto the laptop, along with the histories, I can work on them when I return home.  The challenge for me is always in the learning, in mastering the language for myself,” I say emphatically.

“So it is seen,” Erigone chuckles.  “Keril has not been worked so hard since his examinations.”

“Actually, Erigone, I’d like to start now, while you’re working on the laptop.  If you don’t mind?  Am I allowed to access the system directly?  To look at the lexicon and try some test searches?”

“You may,” Erigone nods graciously, smiling.  “I will make our devices talk, and you may play to your heart’s content.”

“Play?” I query.

“Play,” Erigone states firmly, eyes twinkling.

I scowl up at her.  “How old do you think I am?” I ask, a little indignantly.

“You are no bigger than a child of eleven summers, Ashavan,” Erigone says innocently as we approach the carved entrance doors to the Dar-e Mihr.

“How many children do you have?” I ask wryly.

“Two boys, though they’d feel no joy at hearing me name them so.  Cetus has twenty summers, and Pirro three and twenty.

“I have five and thirty! I say tartly, pre-empting Erigone to open the door of the Dar-e Mihr and usher her in, with something of a flourish.

“You are too little to stand on dignity,” Erigone insists, “And we are NEVER too old to fail to benefit from the guidance of those with more summers than we can own to!”

Jack would just love that one.

The moment the door closes behind us, a feeling of peace soaks into me.  My reaction to this place isn’t muted; the Dar-e Mihr simply invites quietude and reflection.  I feel no loss of passion, of focus, but something in me is reaching out.  Listening.

I’ve never discussed with anyone how strongly I react to buildings.  I drove Jack crazy when he was helping me look for a bigger apartment.  Admittedly, his priorities were a more salubrious neighbourhood than the one I previously graced, and adequate – read airtight - security.  Mine was simply that the apartment felt right.  Some I rejected out of hand, from the street.  One was fine until I walked in and the savage coldness of the place made me turn around and walk right back out again, much to Jack’s consternation.  The only one that felt right is the one I’m living in, and that had a lot to do with all its quirks.  Jack is convinced I rarely drink because the unexpected steps dotted everywhere – including the ones up to my bed – are treacherous to navigate even when sober, and he hates the poor ‘line of sight’.  I’ve never considered the defensible aspect of any place I’ve lived in, and I refused to start in a warm, quirky, home-shaped space.

I’m learning to live with the SGC, and fortunately George was sympathetic, hence the bookcases, constructed to my own requirements, and still the only homey touch in the utilitarian entirety of the base.  The office saw me through that hellish first month without Sha’uri, the ferocious loneliness of having nothing and no one of my own, not even the clothes I stood up in, not the food on my plate, nor a place I could sleep each night.  George was the only one who noticed, and he got me the cot for my office, made it MY space, made it fit ME, and then he stood guarantor to get me into my first apartment.  It was charity I couldn’t refuse, because George made it clear his guarantee was of my good character, and he hadn’t rushed to make the decision.  I’ve never had a higher compliment paid me, because it was earned.

This place, the Dar-e Mihr, was designed for people.  Solitude is possible, but it isn’t the point.  This was meant to be shared.  The peace, and strangely, the expectancy I feel, tells me the whole building was designed for listening.  We can all talk, but what is the point if no one listens?  The Dar-e Mihr was designed to help open people up, to help them be receptive to others.  I feel it, I’m sure of it.

After I unhook the laptop from the camera, Erigone leads me across the main hall.  She opens a small door close to the outer wall of the Dar-e Mihr, ushering me into a small chamber.  It's softly lit by windows high in the wall, letting in the evening sunshine without it intruding.  She has a large, solid worktable, much like my own, and what is obviously a computer console, though I don’t see a screen or an obvious keyboard.  She sits and says her name, then a word I haven’t heard from Keril, 'khshnuman'.  I can distinctly imagine Jack’s voice drawling ‘yoo hoo' when I suggested a few synonyms for Kree.

A soft, melodic woman’s voice replies, “Khshnuman wadi, Erigone.”

Erigone turns to me.  “Speak, Ashavan, as I did.”

I move to stand at her shoulder.  “Daniel.  Khshnuman.”

“Khshnuman wadi, Daniel.”

“You may now access the system, Ashavan,” Erigone says cheerfully.  “Give the command ‘mahraspand’ to open the lexicon, and you may see what you will.  If I may have your device?”

“Oh, of course, here,” I hand it to her, not blaming her for handling and eyeing it dubiously. As she stands and carries the laptop over to the worktable to do ‘Sam’ things to it, I sit.  “Mahraspand,” I say cautiously, then rear back as an image fires up from the console and unfurls to hover in mid-air.

“Say a common word, Ashavan, and you will be shown the word as it is in our language.”

Okay.  Start small, here.  Find out the system tolerance for idiom.  “Ruler.”  The screen shows ‘Ardashir’ and a range of options down one side.   “King.”  Again with Ardashir.  “Leader.”  This time I get ‘Ervad’.  “Teacher.”  ‘Ashavan’.  “Priest.” ‘Dahman.’  I turn to Erigone.  “Priest?”

“It is clumsy, Ashavan, but as Keeper I do guide the Arash and make the True record.  That notion of priest is as close as the common language will come to who and what I am, but we of the Imanish worship no deity.”

I don’t blame them.  More people have been killed in the name of God than for any other cause in our history.  “Many of the people of Earth believe in the existence of such a deity, one who is omniscient and omnipotent.  All knowing and all powerful,” I clarify.  “Others believe in a multitude of deities, each symbolising a different part of their culture and life.  Some refuse to believe in any deity at all.”

“It has been seen from your talk that though you are of one people, you are of many nations.  Have I that correctly?” Erigone asks.

“Yes, quite correct.  Each nation is like a people in itself, with it’s own laws, government, language, society, culture, history.”

“But you are united, yes?  You are of one world.”

“We try,” I say sadly.  “We still make war on each other, Erigone, still strive for power, economic and strategic advantage, for territory and for religion.”

“You are a young people, come recently and perhaps too quickly into your power,” Erigone says positively.  “As we learned, so shall you.  If even a few of the people of Earth are such as you, Ashavan, a difference will be made.”

“I hope.”  I flush a little before those warm, weighing eyes.  “You no longer make war?”

“We warred almost to extinction, Ashavan, millennia ago.  The hardest lesson of all was learned only when we had no choice but to face it.  Riches and blood-pride drove us apart, but survival brought us together.  We learned, long and hard, to be as one.  We will never forget the cost of what we have, and we mourn for it every year, at Midsummer, when the Ashavan Speak for our dead.  We are bound to one another by ties stronger than blood, and bound to the past by ties stronger than death.”

“On our world, it is said the victor writes history,” I say softly.

“That is why you Speak for your dead, Ashavan, uncovering the truth of your past with your science and with your Asha.  It is well,” Erigone approves gravely.

I think it is well too.  I leave Erigone sweeping some kind of light-filled tube over the laptop and looking even more dubious than before, and turn again to the console.  Careful questioning reveals a fairly low tolerance of idiom.  I’m conscious of sounding not just formal, but decidedly prissy by American standards.  I’ve also noticed more screens with those options down the side.  Erigone told me the name of the mineral we want to mine.  “Tura,” I say and when the entry comes up, I use the interface on the console to access one of the options.  I’m startled to see columns of what I know from Keril to be figures, in what looks like a detailed productivity report, and a list of clients next to them.  This must be confidential information.  “Erigone?”

“We are almost there, Ashavan.  Our devices begin to know one another, though yours is now much changed.  I do not think it will speak very well with the other devices of yours!”

I’m not surprised, I think she’s rebuilt it from the casing up.  I’ve had to explain about binary and ASCII codes, what little I know, and that seemed to help with the software side of things.  Erigone took fresh heart and made some tweaks to a translation program they use for interoperability, to allow me to access and read the data via the keyboard, but everything else on the laptop has been MacGuyvered with Imanish parts.  I think Sam will be dancing in the aisles when she gets her hands on my souped-up laptop.  It aggravates her that we sweat for months to access the tiniest bit of alien data, and we’ve never met a technologically advanced race yet that couldn’t read our stuff in a heartbeat.  If she can copy the translation programme without damaging the important stuff, the lexicon and the oral histories, she might find a use for it.

“Thank you, but I was wondering about this?”  I gesture to the report onscreen, to which Erigone gives a cursory glance before returning to the task at hand, something to do with the trackball, which is fighting back and apparently winning.  “It looks confidential.”

“Confidential?”

“Information you don’t want anyone else to see,”  I explain.

“If we did not want people to see the data, we would not have it on the system.”

“You have open access to everything?” I ask incredulously.  Surely not?  “What about security?”

“All have a voice, Ashavan.  How can they judge and speak True if we hide the Truth from them?  There is no Asha in that, ”  Erigone explains absently as she cautiously rolls the trackball.  “Hawan!” she cries, triumphantly.  “It is done.  I have ‘slaughtered’ this mouse, though, to be sure, it fought well,” she concedes graciously.

 

* * *

“So it works like an honour system, Maj – um - Jonathan.  A system of government that is truly, fearlessly open.  There are no secrets because everyone here is equal, even the Ardashir is only first among equals.  This is true democracy, not lip service to an ideal and the seeking of power to gratify self.  You know what occurs  to – “

“Whoa, Daniel!” Simpson stops me and makes a time out gesture.  “Are you seriously telling me these people don’t have ANY concept of data security?”  He shakes his head in disbelief and starts off towards the town again.

“Oh, yes!   I mean, you have to be Imanish to gain access to the system in the first place, and you have to be able to speak and read the language to use the system.  The alphabet and grammatical rules are complex, and – “

“But they let you access the system.  The exception that proves the rule, huh?  Well, I doubt anyone here would argue you’re a man of honour.”

I shy away from the compliment instinctively, and feel annoyed with myself for bridling.  It seems Simpson can do no right where I’m concerned.  “Thank you,” I acknowledge, stiffly.

“How are you getting along with the language?” Simpson asks casually.

“The lexicon helps tremendously, of course, and the language exercises are helping me to grasp the essentials of sentence structure,” which I can see you aren’t remotely interested in, shutting up now.  “I’m doing pretty good for someone thirty years older than the target audience,” I say dryly.

“Kindergarten, huh?”  Simpson lightens up again.

“I did find some useful information, too.  Lots of stuff about the mineral, Tura.  I’ve a fair idea of what production levels are like, and I’m sure the amounts we’re talking about won’t put a strain on the mine’s resources.  I’m confident I can negotiate a steady supply of processed mineral.”

Simpson smiles at me, visibly pleased.  “That’s excellent, Daniel, really.  I have to admit I’d like to go back with a successful mission under my belt.  SG-11 have had a rough year and putting this one to bed will boost morale.”

I smile, too.  I wish I knew what it was that made me so on edge around Simpson.  He hasn’t done a single thing, but I’m getting as bad as the Imanish, always thinking there’s more to what he’s saying than what he’s giving voice to.

“If only they would share their weapons technology with us,” Simpson sighs.  “A C.O. can dream.  What a coup that would be.”

“The specifications are very complex and the requirements for the various alloys are far beyond our manufacturing capability,” I say casually.  “Useless to us.”

Simpson slows and stares at me.  “You’ve SEEN the weapon specs?”

“Well, yes.  Erigone was showing me how to put together complex search strings using key words from the lexicon and – “ I falter to a stop, caught by the look in Simpson’s eyes.  I’ve seen that look before, that greedy, 'if you don’t give I’ll take' look, manufactured of course, but I didn’t know that at the time, or appreciate how hard it was for Jack to deny not only the 'foundations' of our friendship, but his love for me, and walk away from all of us. I still cringe over the pettiness of that 'drawing straws' crack.  “It doesn’t matter, Maj – um – Jonathan, the Imanish will never permit us access to their technology, and pushing them over a weapon we can’t build is unimportant compared to securing the mineral concession,” I say anxiously.

After a long pause, some of the tightness eases from Simpson’s face.  “You’re right.  Of course.  It’s just – I find it hard to turn my back on any chance to gain a tactical advantage, knowing the odds we face.”

“I understand,” I mutter, a little relieved and not entirely convinced he won’t try to persuade me to ask anyway.  It would pain Aethra and Erigone to refuse me if I have to ask, but refuse me they would.  I wouldn’t for the world put them in that position, not when they’ve already given me so much.  I’m gloating over the histories downloaded onto my laptop-come-supercomputer.

“Lighten up, Daniel, and call me Jack,” Simpson claps me on the shoulder.

JACK?  No!  No way.  I – I can’t.  He’s NOT.

“You seem to have difficulty calling me Jonathan, and my friends call me Jack.  I’m sure you can manage to remember that name.  For obvious reasons,” he looks me up and down, smirking a little, and turns into the door of his billet, leaving me without a word to say.

 

* * *

“Ashavan?  Daniel?  Are you well?” a soft voice murmurs outside my chamber door.

“I’m fine,” I call.

“You do not sound it,” Aethra announces in her normal, confident tones.  “May I come in?”

I’d like to say no, and brood in peace, but common courtesy forbids the indulgence.  “Please,” I call, sitting up.  Aethra bounds through the door so quickly I don’t even have time to stand.

Anxious green eyes look me over searchingly from head to toe, a gentle hand rests against my brow and then Aethra leans her head out the door and hollers for baga tea.  Before I can utter a word of protest, Aethra bundles me under the covers and jumps nimbly up onto the bed next to me, eyes and smile decidedly roguish.  “If only I were younger,” she sighs gustily.

“If only I were taller,” I mourn dulcetly, shocking a gurgle of wicked laughter out of her.

Eda, the cook, trots in with a tray of beautifully chased, white gold bowls and fragrant tea.  She eyes Aethra ominously and looks significantly at the large, empty chair by the window, quite scandalised.  Aethra loftily ignores her, and snuggles into the pillows.  Eda sniffs and makes a point of ruffling my hair consolingly before whisking herself out of this den of iniquity.

Aethra hands me a bowl and I sip my tea gratefully.  She takes her own bowl, then pauses, eyeing me thoughtfully.  “This is a malady of spirit, Ashavan.”

“Daniel is fine.”

Aethra smiles and cups my face gently for a moment.  “Daniel is not ‘fine’.  What lowers your spirits so, dear one?”

I love Jack and I miss him, very much.  I wish he was here and not Simpson.  I hate it bothers me so much that this man I dislike has invaded my privacy, Jack’s privacy, knowingly, just to make a casual point.  I don’t know why I dislike him, why he makes me so uneasy, but I know I can’t call him Major, I can’t call him Jonathan and I won’t call him ‘Jack’.  I’m worried he’s going to spoil this, make me ask for those weapon specifications and shatter this rapport I’m building up so carefully, and am enjoying so much.  I’m being selfish, and maybe even childish, but I don’t want to give these people up for nothing.

“I miss my friend,” I murmur after too long a silence.

“Friend?” Aethra challenges, softly.

I go with the blushing again, and get very busy with my tea.

“Ah, ‘friend’,” Aethra rolls the word of her tongue with relish.  “Does the ‘friend’ have a name?”

“Yes,” I don’t know the custom, not for same sex relationships.  It might be taboo, and I wouldn’t for the world offend Aethra.

“Eda is my ‘friend’,” Aethra says softly.  “My Theon died ten summers ago.  It was his time, Daniel, after a long illness, bravely borne.  I found my ‘friend’ behind the face of a friend.”

“Me too,” I admit shyly.  “Jack.  My lover is Jack.”

“Will you speak of this Jack?”

“He’s the best friend I’ve ever had and the best man I’ve ever known.  He knows me better than anyone, better than I know myself, at times, and still, he loves me.”

“More than you love yourself, I think,” Aethra smiles sweetly down at me.  “I’ve yet to see you spare a thought to yourself, Daniel, and I cannot see you so low because, perhaps, you do so now?  You miss your Jack and instead you have this tishn Simpson who speaks the Truth and does not feel it, and lessens us all for his lack.”

I look up at her, a little anxious.

“We will give you what you ask of us, dear one, do not worry yourself so.  Forget the tishn.  Think of yourself, and speak of your Jack, and be with us.  It is well,” Aethra says warmly.  “Tell of how you met your Jack.”

Aethra’s warmth and uncritical kindness eases some of the tension knotting my gut.  I laugh suddenly.  “He didn’t like me very much.”

“He was not won over by your beauty?” Aethra asks sceptically.

“No,” I say firmly.

She looks disappointed.

“We’d known each other for nearly five years before we even kissed, and even then, I – well – I kissed him.”

“Oh,” Aethra sniffs haughtily.

Jack is clearly plummeting in her estimation.  “He lives for hockey,” I say cunningly.  “Our Earth name for Yasna.”

“He plays Yasna?”

I guess it’s too much for Aethra to hope such an obvious moron could have ANY redeeming features whatsoever, but a Yasna addiction should make up for a multitude of sins.  I take a deep breath and tell of my Jack.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slash: Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Category: Action/Adventure. First Time. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.  
> Season/Spoilers: Season 4. Follows events in The Curse and Double Jeopardy.  
> Synopsis: Daniel and Jack learn - and teach - difficult lessons in honesty and faithfulness.  
> Warnings: Minor character death. Violence. Language. Intense situations.

DANIEL

“I come into the peace of wild things   
who do not tax their lives with forethought   
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.   
And I feel above me the day-blind stars   
waiting for their light. For a time   
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

Every eye is on me, suddenly flushed and self-conscious, standing tall in the very centre of the silent crowd in the Sanctum of the Dar-e Mihr.  They were all with me through Chaucer, the Sonnets, the Romantics, Yeats and Auden.  I think I’ve just lost them with Wendell Berry.

“The peace of wild things,” Keril breathes.

“I rest in the grace of the world,” Erigone sighs, wiping her eyes.

“KRIYA!” the crowd roars, Aethra’s voice ringing clear.

Ramon, Hanrahan, Tomelty and Dawes applaud, grinning from ear to ear.  Simpson nods measured approval from his post by the chamber doors.

Operation Once Upon a Time has commenced.  Simpson told us the general was delighted with the news about the mining concession, and he’ll hear what the Dal have to say about trading for the naquadah during the six am situation report tomorrow – this - morning.  I plan to be back at the Dar-e Mihr, selecting more stories to download to the laptop.  I have to make the most of this while it lasts.  I’ve no doubt Jack will be demanding me back with menaces the minute the three-way deal is brokered.

I’ll miss these people, particularly Aethra, Erigone and Keril.  They could not have made me more welcome.  I smile as the crowd surges forward, demanding more, Erigone’s voice as loud as anyone’s.  They love the poetry more than anything.  It’s one tradition they don’t have, and they can’t get enough.

“I have one,” Hanrahan offers, surprisingly.

“Tell!” A chorus of friendly encouragements rings out.

Looking ridiculously self-conscious, he stands and walks over to my side.  A nakedly anxious look convinces me Hanrahan needs moral support, so I stay put.  He takes a deep breath and launches into John Scott of Amwell’s ‘Retort on Mordaunt’s The Call’.  Discordant drums, tawdry lace and glittering arms, and the catalogue of human woes hold the audience captive as Hanrahan relaxes into it, gaining confidence and conviction with every word.  He finishes with distinct panache, and swaggers back to his team mates, ridiculously pleased by the roars of approval.

“Lieutenant?” I ask, hopefully.  Ramon rises smoothly to his feet and strides over to join me.  He glances around the crowd, grinning.

“I’ve no wish to offend your customs or make assumptions about morality, but this is a poem that makes me think, especially here where Truth is so important.”  He waits a beat for objections, and receives only encouragement.

“You wanted sincerity above   
all else.  That between   
us, you said, there would   
never be perfidies   
or secrets.  That doubt   
would never settle in our   
hearts.  You wanted sincerity,   
at any price.  And as far as I   
know, that is all I did,   
be sincere, when I told you   
that I had spent a night   
with your friend.  So now I   
don't know what to make of   
these insults, or these rabid   
looks, or these tears.  Sincerely,   
I don't know who you think you are.”

Erigone rises to her feet again and walks over to join us.   “Truth sometimes has a cost, a heavy price to pay, demanded of both the Speaker and the Listener.  It is a hard lesson, and it is seen you have learned it well, Lieutenant.  We cannot guard against the passions of the heart any more than we can deny Truth.  No easy answer to this puzzle, and much Asha in the sharing.  It is well.”

“It is,” I encourage as Ramon nods gravely and returns to his spot.  No cheers this time, but rich, thoughtful silence is better.

Erigone takes my hand for a moment.  “Another, Ashavan?”

“Just one?” I tease.

“Just one,” Erigone tries and fails to look guilty.

She said that about two hours ago.

“I have one more to share, the only poem my friend Jack admits to liking.”   A lot of pilots love this poem, because it was written by a pilot and he KNEW what flying was.  I understand.  I feel the same way about touching the past.

“Tell!” Aethra demands, grinning.

I have to smile at her eagerness.  Proper appreciation of Yasna did indeed allow her to forgive Jack a multitude of sins.

“Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth   
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;   
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth   
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things   
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung   
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,   
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung   
My eager craft through footless halls of air.   
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue   
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace   
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -   
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod   
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,   
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.”

“Joy and life and reverence in this high flight you speak of, Ashavan,” Keril says warmly.

“It was written during a long and bitter war, a world war,” I say softly, “The poet had seen only nineteen summers when he died doing what he loved best, flying.  The joy and life are all the more remarkable for that.”

“There is much Asha in that, Ashavan,” Erigone says softly.  “Will you tell us of this ‘world war’?”

“We too have warred, and we do not forget,” Keril agrees.  “And always we learn from the past.”

“Some of our people try to forget, or worse, deny the past and the Truth,” I say sadly.

“We too struggled with our lesson, as I told, Ashavan,” Erigone sighs.  “It should give you heart that your people have not warred as we once did, have not destroyed your world that none may have it, in blood-pride and rage.  We rebuilt our world and ourselves, and we do not forget.”

“We shouldn’t either," I agree earnestly.  "We live because those who went before us battled to survive and learn and grow, to make things better.  My generation has more and is more than any other that went before it.  We are the sum of all the experiences and sacrifices of those who lived before us, and we should never forget the price paid to give us the lives and the riches we enjoy.”

 

* * *

“Daniel?”

Simpson’s quiet question makes me jump in my seat, I was so lost in the translation of the story I was reading.  “This story is incredible.  Imanish society was clan-based, and the clans warred interminably over territory, power, insults both real and imagined, every conceivable cause.  If one clan member died, two members of the clan responsible had to be killed to satisfy honour.  An impossible situation that escalated at every turn into outright warfare and massacres.  Erigone referred to blood-pride, but there was more to it, something like a killing rage that overwhelmed reason and prevented negotiation or reconciliation.  The Imanish literally warred to the point where the gene pool teetered on the brink of losing viability.  The way they’ve rebuilt and developed their technology is so much more impressive, knowing their history.”

I’m babbling, I know it, but this not being able to call him by any name that won’t offend either of us is just impossible.  I can’t make small talk, so I babble to disguise how uncomfortable I am around him, and that tight little smile I keep trying out isn’t even fooling me.

“That’s nice, Daniel,” Simpson says flatly.  “Totally irrelevant to the matter at hand, but nice.”

I’m taken aback by his tone and that taut, greedy look is back on his face and very evident in glittering, restless eyes.

“There’s a lot at stake, here, Daniel, and I’m going to need your help to work my way clear of it,” he says earnestly.

“Is there some problem with the Dal?  Have the negotiations fallen through?”  I find it hard to believe, they need the Tura so desperately.  “I’ll do what I can, trust me on that,” I offer.  I don’t like him, I’ll never like him, but that doesn’t prevent me from doing my job.

“We’ll see,” Simpson says tightly.  “You have access to the system, yes?”

I nod, quite bewildered.  He knows this.

“Find the weapons specs and download them onto the laptop,” Simpson orders.  “The general’s orders.”

“No!” I snap, absolutely certain.  “General Hammond would NEVER give an order like that, not after what happened with the NID covert operatives stealing technology from our allies.  It isn’t worth the risk.  Who do you work for?” I demand.  “Is it the NID?  Do you people never learn?  Security measures are in place to prevent any technology slipping through.  This is pointless.”

“Who do you think I work for, Daniel?  You’re a bright, sensitive guy.  You tell me.”

I look up at him, all cold, glittering eyes, and tight, controlled excitement.  My gut has been telling me all along he works only for himself.

“And who said we were going back?”

“W-what?” I stammer.  He’s deadly serious.  “Where do you think we can go?”

“I don’t mean the team, Daniel,” Simpson says contemptuously.  “Just you and me and those specs.  You’re the fucking expert on the Stargate, alien cultures and languages.  Couldn’t have asked for better.  You dropped right in my lap.  Talk about a sweet deal.”

I can’t for the life of me work out what he thinks he’ll accomplish here, but I think I’d better get reinforcements from SG-11 before Erigone returns and sees this ugly little confrontation.  My eyes go to my jacket and the radio, just out of reach on the work table.

“Uh uh,” Simpson says lightly, drawing a strange weapon, one I’ve never seen before.  He grins at me.  “Took me the whole day to find their armoury. Once I saw the field artillery I knew they had to have some decent shit somewhere around.  Got a whole batch of these beauties stashed in my pack.  They kill with one shot and the range is phenomenal.”

This is ridiculous.  “You can’t shoot me, not if you think you need me,” I say quietly, trying not to escalate the situation as he eases forward and removes my pistol from its holster.

“That’s absolutely true.  I do need you.  In fact, I planned to take you from the moment I was notified you were coming, but I held off because this way I get you and a meal ticket.  You’re the only one who can learn this language and translate these specs.  Everyone else is expendable.”

“What do you imagine you’re going to do with the specs?” I ask.  “You don’t have any contacts anywhere in the galaxy.  It’s not like we have Yellow Pages out here.”

“You have contacts.”

“Boch!  Are you serious?  He’d never cross Jack, not in a million years!  His own hide is more valuable to him than anything else,” I snap,  quite incredulous.  He planned this?

“He’ll trade for the chance to strike a blow against the Goa’uld, and if he won’t, hell, he’ll trade for you,” Simpson says coldly.  “I’ll have his word I go free and only when I’m free and clear will he get his hands on you.  If he’s as afraid of O’Neill as you seem to think, maybe he’ll trade you back to the SGC instead of to whoever will give him the best price for you.”

I shake my head at him, disbelieving.

“You don’t understand the situation, Daniel.  I can’t go back to Earth.  Ever.  I value MY hide too much to risk it, and there are people waiting for me.  Termination with extreme prejudice is all I have in my future.  I’ve got nothing to lose here, but you – you have everything to lose.  Home, family, vocation.  Lover,” he says cuttingly.  “Be a good boy, Daniel, and download those specs for me.  Believe me, you won’t like the consequences if you don’t.”

“No,” I say quietly, finally.  This man really would put a loaded gun in the hands of a child.  Any world taking this risk would have the Goa’uld at their throats before they could build the weapons, and sooner or later the technology would fall into Goa’uld hands.  It always does.  One System Lord would gain a tactical advantage none of the others could match, and when that System Lord takes it all, he’ll go after the Tollan, the Nox, perhaps the Asgard.  Us.  “No.”

Simpson nods as if he didn’t expect anything else.  “Pity.”

I don’t see the blow coming, don’t feel anything except the sharp, intensely focused pressure exploding against my face and the only thing I hear is the harsh splinter of breaking bone as I crash to the floor, stunned and shaking.

Simpson stands over me, looking down gravely for a moment, then he kneels and straddles my chest.  A gentle hand skims my broken cheekbone and stills.  “I can hurt you in lots of ways that won’t kill you, Daniel.  Don’t make me hurt you.  Download those specs.”

“No,” I whisper.

He gently removes my glasses with his free hand.  “Better keep these safe,” he says cheerfully.  “You’ll need them.”  Then he leans his weight into my broken cheek, leans until I stop screaming and the world fades red then black.

 

* * *

My head snaps around, face stinging from the blow, nothing compared to the sullen, agonising throb of my cheek.

“Download the specs.”

“No.”

I can hang on.  Ramon will come and fetch me soon;  I’ve missed lunch.  Hours now.  He’ll check.  He’ll come soon.

“No, Jack,” Simpson taunts.

“No.”

“If I was fucking you, would you call me Jack?” he smirks.

“No.”

I can hang on.  He’ll come soon.

Fingers gentle on the broken bone.  Again.

“Download the specs.”

I swallow and talk into the trap, eyes wide open.  “No.”  Scalding pressure-pain, searing through me until my vision wavers, sick-salt-taste bitter in my throat, tears falling.  Whimpering.  Shameful.

I wish he was angry.  Easier if he was angry.

“They teach us this in Black Ops, you know.  Taught me.  Taught Jack.  This - this is a good one.  Makes the subject panic as the air supply is cut off, and held off, as long as you choose and the subject can take it.”

I know this move.  Jack was joking about it.  Not this Jonathan-Jack.  No joke, this.  Jack taught me, didn’t hurt.  Hurting now.  Pressure.  The body – the subject – gives under pressure.  Can’t swallow, can’t breathe, can’t see from this pressure.  Knee on my throat.  Choking me.  Can hear.  Don’t want to hear.  Don’t want this pleasant, obscene voice admiring, telling me how good my Jack is at this.  Still the best.  The best there is at hurting people.  Inspiration to us all.

Not my Jack.

“AHRIMAN!  You dare!”

Erigone!

Choking pressure lifting from my throat, weight jerked away.  Hateful voice stilled at last.  Points of pressure all over me giving pain.  More harsh splinters I heard.  Felt.  Couldn’t keep safe for Jack from Jack after all.

Erigone.  Needs me.  Have to –

“Sir!”

“No,” I cry, forced whisper harsh in my raw throat.

“Step away!  NOW!”

“NO,” I cry, vision clearing, looking, seeing, struggling up, past the pressure, past the pain.

“PLEASE!”

“STOP!” I scream as Ramon fires and Erigone is falling, falling, the retort crashing through us, Ramon rushing forward, catching her, dropping to the ground beneath her dying weight, her blood on them both, both of them hurting.  Simpson, livid, hurting too, behind –

“Behind you,” I yell.  Too late.

Pressure at Ramon’s temple. He looks to Erigone, dying with her, his own mistake killing him as surely as he killed her, looking then to me, not Simpson.  Not to the weapon at his head.

“Download the specs, Daniel.”

“Don’t do it, Daniel,” Ramon orders me, clear and strong.

“Do it or I kill him, Daniel.”

He will, oh, God, he will.

“No, Daniel.”  Ramon’s liquid eyes steady on mine.  Hurting and trusting.  Trusting me to do the right thing by him.  Take his life away.  Sancia.  Corazoncito, he calls her.  Little heart.

“You’ll kill him anyway,” I whisper.

“Erigone.  Khshnuman,” a trembling voice murmurs.

“Khshnuman wadi, Erigone.”

“NO,” Ramon cries too late as Erigone gives the commands, her sherry-warm eyes fixed on mine.  Live, she begs.  Buying our lives, she hopes.  Safe, she cries.  I see.  I see it as she dies.

Help is coming.

Too late.

“Tell – “

Simpson fires the energy weapon casually.  No sound, no retort, just a soft flare of light taking Ramon from his wife and his children.  From his life.  Simpson stepping over the bodies, pausing, pulling a face, wiping Erigone’s blood from his boot on Erigone’s dress.  Coming for me.

“I warned you, Daniel.  Consequences.  Everyone is expendable except you.  I hope you see the ‘Truth’ of that, now,” he chides.

 

* * *

“Dial the fucking address, Daniel,” Simpson demands with iron patience.

“No.”  The longer I delay, the more chance there is of rescue.  I’m hunched over the DHD, Simpson hard behind me.  He’s hurt me all he can right now, and he’s seething because I’m going into shock.  So he tells me.  All I know is numb, cold, sick and afraid to think, remember, see.  Saw too much.  See hurting, begging eyes trusting me.  Right in front of me.  “No,” I whisper.

“Ahriman,” a soft, known voice snarls.

Keril.

“Leave me,” I call, as the world spins sickeningly and Simpson spoons up behind me, energy weapon steady at my temple.

“I cannot, Ashavan,” Keril calls grimly.  He has the same kind of weapon in his unsteady hand.

“Then shoot me, shoot us both,” I demand.

“You will die,” Keril cries, face twisting, grieving.

“I’m begging you.”

The arm across my throat tightens unbearably, choking.

“Shut the fuck up, Daniel.  You talk too much,” Simpson growls, savagely tightening his grip until I hang limp from his hold.

Keril walks steadily forward.  “Help is coming.  It will be well, Ashavan.”

It will not.  It is not.  Erigone and Ramon are DEAD.  I have to get free or Keril will die too.  Have to.  Get past the pain, soon, now, before it’s too late.  Failed before.  Couldn’t – have to.  Think.  Think!  I flop, let Simpson take all my weight, his hold slackening, shifting.

“Aethra comes.”

“Aethra is here!” a harsh voice calls as I smack my skull hard into Simpson’s face, slip through his scrabbling hold and ram my elbow into his groin.  I go all the way, drop to my ass on the ground, gasping, faint, unable to snatch a breath around my broken ribs.

Keril stepping forward, raising his weapon, firing, at last, Simpson staggering to one side, screaming for his sergeant,  stooping, snatching me under the arms as the shooting starts.  Pain exploding –

 

* * *

“Ashavan?”

“Mm.”

“Can you free yourself?  Simpson comes again, soon.  He is in the forest, seeking a place to hide I think, and will return to us faster than my people can reach us.”

A taut, pained whisper.  Hard to – to – “Aethra?”

“I live.  I alone,” she hisses over her pain.

“God.  God.  S-sorry,” I whisper, helplessly.  Every time I force my eyes open, the world spins.

“Not your sorrow, dear one.  Mine alone.  My failure.  I did not see True.”

“None of us did,” I say bitterly, rolling agonisingly slowly onto my uninjured side to see her.  She has a lot of blood drying on her face, more at her shoulder.  My head is throbbing so hard I feel nauseated, hard to lift it without sickening waves of dizziness rolling over me, but I try to focus, try to see where I am.  Where Simpson is.  I can't hear – no sound, no one but Aethra, who's lying close to me.  Struggling for every harsh  breath.  Must be - still at the Stargate.  No noise.  No - no survivors.  Don't want to - to think about that.  Have to think about Aethra.  Myself.  "S-Simpson?"

“Irus drove Simpson into the forest, but it is in me to fear for Irus.  This Ahriman,” she spits, “killed his own men, those who survived after they had killed mine.  Struck them down from behind.  Only Irus came through before Simpson destroyed the transport platform.  Rescue must come to us along the path from the town, but I fear they will be too late.”

“K-killed?”  Oh, God.  All of them. I strain around, see only the bodies of Keril and two Imanish women I don’t know and didn’t even see.  No blood from the Imanish weapons.  Such a quick, clean way to die.  So efficient.  Clinical.  A soft flare of light that drops you soundless where you stand.  Not- not like THIS charnel house.  Not like US.  Weapons that maim and tear to blood and bone and KILL.  Not soundless.  Not quick.  Not clean.  Broken bodies crumpled on the ground.  Sweet coppery scent of slow death hanging heavy in the air.  “W-where?”  I can’t put any weight on my injured side.  They - the team m-must be behind me.

Aethra groans, wrenchingly.

I clench my teeth over useless sympathy.

Aethra’s eyes flutter.  “Aethra?  Aethra!”

I hear the crunch of a booted foot on the path behind me and roll onto my back to face him, my bound wrists making their presence felt amongst a myriad of other harsh, incessant pains.

“I think I’ve translated Ahriman, Simpson.  It’s Imanish for lying, treacherous, murdering bastard.”

“Jesus.  Wish the cat would get your tongue like it got hers.”  Simpson stoops and hauls me to my feet.

I feel so weak and faint I find myself leaning against him for a moment before I pull myself together and wrench away.

“That’s the spirit,” Simpson drawls, patting me lightly, insultingly, on the cheek.  “Now dial.”

“No.  And there’s no one left to hurt, so you can’t make me,” I snap, glaring at him, desperate for him to focus on me and me alone.  If there’s any chance for Aethra.

“I do believe you mean that,” Simpson shakes his head, disbelieving.  “You’ve more guts than I ever imagined, Daniel, for a bleeding heart who likes taking it up the ass.  Pity you don’t have the smarts you were born with.  How many people do I have to kill before you co-operate?”

I haven’t a smart come-back in me, the blood draining from my face.  He means it.  He’ll do it.  “You’re a sociopath.”

“Nope.  Just a pragmatist.  I’m going to take you for a little walk into the forest, Daniel, and leave you out there to think things through while I clean up this mess.  All you have to do is take us to a nice, quiet world away from everyone where you can translate those specs in peace.”

“And then you let me go?” I drawl, witheringly.

“Maybe.  Maybe I’ll keep you.  I’m beginning to see what it is that keeps O’Neill coming back for more.  Hell, I wouldn’t kick you out of bed myself.”

I refuse to flinch back from that speculative look, meeting him stare for stare.  I won’t give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.  “No.”

“Daniel, Daniel,” Simpson sighs.  “I’m not O’Neill.  You can’t bat those pretty eyes and lead me around by the dick.  If you give it up to him, you’ll give it up to me.”

“If you touch me, I’ll kill you.”

“I can feel the love,” Simpson says dryly.  “And no, no, you won’t.  Now hold still.”  He uncoils the thin rope from his pack and makes an efficient loop he drops over my head and tightens.

I hate myself for showing weakness, for shying away from his touch, but my throat is bruised and raw already.   And his proximity is making my skin crawl.  The only thing that makes me endure it is the thought every moment he focuses on me is another moment of respite for Aethra.  If he even suspects she’s still alive, he’ll kill her too.  I don’t resist as he leads me away, every step buying another moment for Aethra, for rescue.  For her.

I hold my tongue and try to focus only on putting one weary foot in front of the other as he drags me deeper and deeper into the forest, images of the dead and dying churning through my mind, over and over, relentless as the pace Simpson sets.

I try to think my way clear of the greyness numbing my senses as the killing lethargy is numbing my body.  I can’t think, can’t plan.  I only feel, and see, and hear.  How could I not?

They died for me.

 

* * *

JACK

“Teal’c?” I snap.

“In restraints,” Janet says wearily.  “I’m sorry, Sir.  One of the nurses – “ She shrugs helplessly.  “The whole base is talking of nothing else.  I was naïve to think my own staff wouldn't gossip, " Janet spits the word, "in front of my patients.  If I could have sedated him, I would.”

I nod tersely and grip her shoulder for a moment.  “Not your fault, Major.”

Janet sighs bitterly.  “Nothing will have Teal’c back on his feet quicker.”

I know.  Thank Christ the general agreed Carter shouldn’t be told, at least.   She’s got enough on her plate on Juna. “You ready?”

“Sir!”

“Let’s move out.  Daniel’s waiting on us.”  I lead the way into the gateroom, Janet almost running to keep up.  It’s taken time, too much time.  Time that could cost Daniel.  I was right about the volunteers, about the friends.  Everyone who could, did.  No hesitation.  Even that bitch in Supply put her hand up.  The general whittled it down to the combat experienced.  Twelve, including me, Janet and Sergeant Taylor, the guy I gave hell in the elevator.  Apparently because Daniel had helped with his kid’s homework.  I can’t even put names to the rest.  Can’t think clearly enough for that.  I can only think about him.   
My team and the general wait by the ramp.

“Colonel, you have a go.  Open the iris!” Hammond hollers.

We wait forever as the gate slowly, slowly, so goddamn slowly, dials out and engages.  The instant it’s safe I stride up, stand on the ramp, face my team, Janet steady at my side.  “Our mission is to rescue Dr Jackson and Major Simpson.  Four of our men have been killed.”  An angry murmur runs through the crowd, through the voyeurs and well wishers alike.  “We’re not going to avenge the dead, our only concern is to rescue the living.  Is that CLEAR!”

“Sir, yes, SIR!” my team hollers back, stepping forward as one.

“Then let’s move OUT.”

“Bring our boy home, Jack.  Bring him home,” Hammond sighs. “And the major.”

“Whatever it takes.”  I’ll die trying.  He knows that.  I nod curtly and turn away, lead Janet and my team up the ramp, and through, through to Daniel.

My first thought is lousy fucking timing, O’Neill.  Simpson is here all right, at bay in a ring of huge, ferociously angry people.  The tearing apart with bare hands kinda angry.  Hollering about some Asha – Ashavan?  Who the fuck cares?  Daniel is lost in The Land of the Giants, here.

Janet peels off to the right flank, Taylor to my left as I deploy straight up the middle, the team breaking hard and fast for the treeline as one of the giants spins and gets a bead on me.  Hard to believe such a small, dainty weapon took out virtually our whole team.  He’s watching, but waiting.  Holding his fire.  I’m locked and loaded, but I hold mine too.  Getting dead this quick does not help Daniel.  A terse nod brings Janet and Taylor level as we close in on Simpson.

“SIR!  Thank God.  Get me out of this!  My men – these bastards killed my men,” Simpson yells the minute he lays eyes on us.

My gut clenches.  Simpson has had the crap beaten out of him.  Christ.  Is Daniel hurt?  Like this?  Worse?  “DANIEL?”

“He’s not with the others?” Simpson freezes.

I close in rapidly, too rapidly, my team can’t be in position yet, exposing myself here.  I – I have to know.  Have to see.  “Do they have him?  Is he alive?”

“I don’t know, Sir, I just don’t know,” Simpson snaps.

“AHRIMAN!” the giants howl.

“Return to us the Ashavan!” A woman surges away from a limp body on the ground, grabs Simpson by the throat and shakes him like a doll.  A plump, plain, older woman  – reminds me – Jeez.   Grandma.  Larger than life.  WAY larger than – babbling here.

“My dear, Eda, my very dear,” a harsh, strained whisper from the limp heap on the ground cuts through the rage of The Gramminator, and she slumps, dropping Simpson.

“Return to us the Ashavan,” this Eda begs, tearfully, before dropping to her knees by the woman slumped on the ground.  This woman is also older than me, but nothing like Grandma.  Try Xena, Warrior Princess.  In thirty years time.  On steroids.  And beyond pissed off. Try naked, molten, hurting fury.  Wild, bridling sea-green eyes.

The crowd parts before us.  I got no choice.  They have Daniel, even if it seems Simpson bagged one of theirs.  If he did, we got something to trade.  Seems this Ashavan is important to them.  I walk steadily through, Janet hard on my heels, Taylor holding his position on our six.   A sharp nod from him tells me my team is in place, then the crowd closes around us.

The mood - it isn’t right.  Not for what went down here. These people are hurting and mad as hell.  I counted four bodies, stretched out on the ground.  Two women, two men, plus this one, wounded.  Looks like SG-11 got some, before they were killed.  It’s beyond weird, but if these guys are the guilty party, they’re not acting like it.  If this was a culture that thought murder was okay, Daniel would have said something.  He’d have found out somehow, given ‘em hell, and warned the general.  He didn’t.  Ergo, something sure as shit is wrong here.

I’m trying real hard not to think about how much I need him right now, to help me see things clear, figure these people out.  I just got me, and, boy, do I know that ain’t enough.  Not nearly enough.

Eda looks up at me sorrowfully.  “The Ahriman Simpson sent through the bodies of his men, those slain here.  We had gathered up the last and brought him here with us, for it was seen he would wish to be with his dear ones.  Our sorrow for your loss, though you are all faithless and without Asha and do not -”

“Eda!” the woman at my feet groans.

“All except the Ashavan, who we know to be True,” Eda amends, glaring me down.

“Your name,” the woman on the ground demands harshly.

“Major Simpson is hurt,” Janet interrupts.  “As are you.  I’m a doctor – a healer – may I treat you?”

“The Ervad is treated, and begins to heal, but we knew not if this was safe for the Ahriman, else we would not have delayed this long,” a man calls, stepping forward.  “I am Hylas, Healer in this place.”

Hands up, here.  I’m confused.  These are the most helpful murderers I ever met.  “Go ahead, Doctor,” I snap.

“Your name.”

“Yours,” I demand of the Xena-like on the ground.

“Aethra.  I am Ervad of this community.  Ervad is leader.”

“Colonel O’Neill.  Colonel is leader too,” I snap, in no mood for small talk.

Aethra struggles up, Eda lending support, clucking in dismay.  “Hush, love,” Aethra chides, taking a good hard look at me.

Ah.  Age shall not wither and all that.

“Where’s Dr Jackson?”  That’s all I want to know.  “Is he alive?”  Janet freezes, for all her concern over Simpson.  I think my heart is beating so fucking hard it’s coming out my mouth.

“We know not,” Aethra says wearily.  “The Ahriman has hidden him from us, deep in the forest.  He will not say where.  My people search even now.”

What the FUCK?  “Whoa.  Time out, here.  You’re BLAMING Simpson for this?  You kill my people, torture Simpson and kidnap – torture - ” I falter, swallow hard, “Take Dr Jackson from us and you have the fucking gall to blame Simpson?  Where the hell do you get off, lady?”

“It’s a goddamn LIE,” Simpson sputters.

The crowd gets ugly again, closing in hard.  And fast.  Janet rises smoothly to her feet, stands protectively over Simpson, gun aimed and ready, just like mine.

“AHRIMAN!” the howl goes up again, making us flinch back from the raw, animal pain of it.

What the fuck is going on here?  “What the hell is an Ahriman?” I snarl.  Just cut to the chase.  Tell me about Danny, he’s all I want, all I care about.  Just give me Danny.

“Traitor.  Liar.  And this one?  Murderer,” Aethra fires the words out like bullets, raging and bitterly contemptuous.  “You are a faithless people.  This Ahriman hurt the Ashavan sorely before he stole him away from us, from those who would keep him safe from harm.  We fear for his life.  We fear for his spirit, if he lives yet, so bowed down with grief was he.” Aethra hangs her head, tears welling up.  “He has a bright soul, the Ashavan.  Bright and True.  My duty to protect, in my duty I failed, and all these dead because of it.  My duty now to bring Daniel home again to us, safe.”

“Daniel is the Ashavan,” I realise at last.  This pain, this fear, it’s for Daniel.  Not one of their own.  I look and finally see  the sorrowful faces, the bitter grief and recrimination.  Janet sees it too, then she looks down at the semi-conscious Simpson, deathly pale, her gun dropping to cover him before she can stop it.  It took us this long to see their grief, because it mirrors the grief we feel.  As much as I’ve lost my lover, Janet has lost her friend, we’ve lost a civilian under our protection.  We’ve failed Daniel, and these people feel they’ve failed him too.  I don’t know what the hell is going on.

“Sir, we need to get the major to cover,” Janet calls.  “This drug he’s ingested will apparently build tissue to heal his wounds, but I’m concerned about exposure.  The temperature is dropping.”

Janet doesn’t have to say another word.  Daniel is out there, alone, and if anything said here is to be believed, hurt by someone.  My mind shies away from it, gut clenching hard over the icy knot that’s been there since the bodies started falling.  I’m no good to Daniel if I get lost in me.  This is not about me.

“The transport is just now repaired.  You will come with us, O’Neill, and you, Healer,” Aethra commands.  “Every moment we delay hurts the Ashavan, and it may be that you know how to wring the Truth from the Ahriman.”

My instinct is to back my people, but if I find Simpson had ANYTHING to do with what’s happened here, if he’s the one who hurt Daniel, I’ll take him apart with my bare hands if I have to.  Right now I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I do believe this Aethra wants to find Daniel too.  I nod curtly, and unwilling hands reach for and carry Simpson gently, leaving me with no doubt he’s poison to them.

They hate him, they had plenty of time to kill him, to kill us.  They haven’t.  It’s the only thing I got right now.   The only thing Danny’s got.

Janet steps to my side, eyes tight as the bodies are taken to a transport platform and beamed away.  “I don’t even want to think it.  I cannot imagine one of our own would – not putting his own men at risk, making them targets.  Not that.”

“Best case, this was a tragic accident, not deliberate murder,” I mutter.  Janet looks to me for permission then steps over to the platform with Simpson, Aethra, Eda and the Healer, Hylas, and is whisked away in the wink of an eye.

I want the team to hold this position, hold the gate in case we need to make a sharp exit.  I give Taylor his orders while everyone else gets loaded up, then join them.  One moment I’m looking at trees and the next I’m in the middle of a town, watching the crowd scatter.  I spy Janet at the entrance to a house, and hurry after her.

“Unbelievable,” she shakes her head at the crowd spilling out into the open courtyard come garden inside the house, all avidly watching the small group guarding Simpson.

“Crap." I do a double-take.  "What the hell did they give him?”  Simpson is healed.  No cuts, no bruises, good skin tone.  Hylas is visibly relieved and still keeping his distance like Simpson is toxic.

“He is the only one who knows where the Ashavan is.  He must be well so he may lead us to the Ashavan as soon as may be.  We can heal the Ashavan, if he lives,” Hylas confides.  “Simpson will be placed under guard until you see the Truth and return for him.  He is safe, unlike the Ashavan.”

Eda is beckoning us to join her and Aethra.  “Can he be left?” I ask Janet.

“Yes, Sir,” Janet glances at Hylas who turns and goes off with the group escorting Simpson away.  I note the room they stash him in, then lope off up the stairs after Eda, Janet following.

Aethra is being settled into bed, and royally fussed over by Eda.  I think my guess was right.  These two are a couple.  Janet closes the door and we stand side by side, still armed, facing and finding it difficult to meet the hard, assessing stares.  Neither of them trusts us an inch.  I don’t care, I’ll do anything here, swallow anything, just so long as it gets me to Daniel a moment quicker.

“Sit.”

I know an order when I hear it, and so do my knees, which sag involuntarily.  Janet rolls her eyes, lips tightening, and grabs a chair.  I simply walk to the bottom of the bed, and take hold of the carved pole at the corner.

“Defiant,” Aethra’s eyes lose that cutting edge for a moment. “O’Neill?”

“Yes.  What can you tell me about Daniel?  What happened here?”  Or at least, your version of what happened here.

“You are Jack O’Neill?” Aethra asks, tautly.  “The fool who loves Yasna.”

Thanks. Backatcha, bitch.  “Yasna?”

“Your word is hockey.”

“So you had a conversation with Daniel, big deal,” I snarl.  “That doesn’t make you his new best friend, so cut the crap.  I don’t believe for a second one of our own had anything to do with this.”

“Twice a fool, then.  The Ashavan did not wish this spoken, but he may forgive me for it himself – or not – when we have him safe.  You are Jack.  Daniel’s friend.”

“Well, whoop de doo.  Tell us something we don’t know,” I snap.  “This is wasting precious time, time you keep telling me Daniel doesn’t have.  You want me to trust you?  I don’t.  The only reason you’re still breathing is the remote chance you can get me to Daniel.  You understand?”

“I understand,” Aethra says softly.  “You are Jack.  Daniel’s lover.”

I hear a choked gasp from behind me, from Janet, pretty much the only thing I hear through the roaring in my ears.

“Though it took you long enough to know that Truth,” Aethra sniffs.

“Sir?” Janet asks weakly. “Lover?”

She’s NOT supposed to ask.  That way I don’t have to tell.  I swallow, turn slowly, and face her.  She shakes her head at me, eyes suspiciously bright in a too-pale face.  I brace myself and nod.  Janet swallows.  Hard.

Ditto.  Got that barbed wire knot feeling myself.

“Took you long enough,” Janet says, grimly.  “I’ve wondered over and over just what you would have said if Anise had questioned you about Daniel.  Caring more than you should wouldn’t have covered it.  Not even close.”

I shrug, helplessly.  I don’t know what to say, and frankly, my career means diddly right now.  Daniel is all that matters.

“Simpson did it, didn’t he?” Janet asks abruptly, aching and bitter.  “If Daniel confided that,” she looks to me and I nod. “You were friends, Aethra.  Daniel trusted you.”

“Our sorrow,” Eda sighs, jumping up from the bed and trotting over to slip a comforting arm around Janet.

“What happened?” I demand, knuckles clenching on the pole.  Seems to be the only thing keeping me upright.

“Simpson was shown our weapons and he pushed the Ashavan from that moment to gain him access to our technology.  The Ashavan was troubled by Simpson, but he is unaccustomed to put himself first, and would not ask for you, though you were the wish of his heart.  He endured, patiently.  I granted his request for the mineral, thinking to ease his burden and get Simpson gone – “

“You didn’t,” I contradict.  “Simpson stated no progress had been made.”  I’m trying very hard to stay focused here and not let myself THINK about being the wish of Daniel’s heart let alone FEEL it.

“He Lies,” Aethra snaps.  “I do not.”

“Simpson missed the check-in at 06:00,” Janet interjects, eyes searching. “He couldn’t make the hike because of the storm.”

“There was no storm,” Eda contradicts.  “Did you see any sign of such a storm?  And Simpson had no need to hike, for the Ashavan made Kriya with his Book of the Dead, and Aethra gave him use of the transport system in Exchange for his Truth.”

“If that’s true, then you’re saying Simpson was lying to all of us, all along.  His men DIED.  I’m sorry, Aethra, but I just can’t accept he was responsible.  This was a mistake.  An error in judgement.”

“Simpson attacked the Ashavan and hurt him sorely, tried to break the Ashavan’s will thus, and have his way.  Erigone found, saw, defended.  She it was who attacked Simpson thusly.  Our gentle Dahman, driven to the killing rage by the hurt done to the Ashavan.”

I shake my head at Aethra’s stony, definite tone.  No.  No way.  Simpson is an officer in the Air Force.  He wouldn’t attack any man under his command, wouldn’t attack a civilian.

“You do not understand, Daniel’s Jack,” Eda says urgently.  “Our Erigone has – had – two fine boys, and has never been known to raise her voice in anger or insult, but still she struck, with all her might, to save the Ashavan.”

“The dear one grieves for her even now,” Aethra mourns.  “Her boys will mourn her deeply, but her sacrifice was brave and Truly meant.”

“Yes,” Janet whispers.

“Your lieutenant has no blame for taking her life.  In truth, she took her own,” Eda says sadly, hugging Janet a little closer.

“It was Simpson who killed the lieutenant.  Erigone lay dead or dying, and the Ashavan would not raise his hand so.  It leaves no other but Simpson.”

“Janet?”  I DON’T want to think it.  Feel it.  Know it.  Give me an OUT, here, Janet.  Let us off the hook.

“Without a detailed autopsy I can neither confirm nor deny, Sir,” Janet is frustrated.  Angry.  “Escobar was killed by a single energy discharge to the temple.  I have no way to know what the range was.”

“Keril was first to answer Erigone’s call for help.  He pursued Simpson to the gate, where I saw with my own eyes Simpson use the Ashavan as a shield,” Aethra says steadily, eyes fixed earnestly on mine.  “The Ashavan freed himself and Keril was firing upon Simpson when Simpson called out to the sergeant and he fired at Keril.  Killed him outright.  Keril had only nineteen summers.  He came to us from his schooling, to see a little more of the world than his family, and he showed much promise.”

“Jesus.”  I don’t want to know my enemy.  I don’t want names, histories, broken fucking hearts making it hard to think, plan, act.  Don’t want this woman hammering another nail into my conviction we’re the innocent, injured party here.  Don’t want that, ‘cause with every single word it’s getting harder and harder for me to believe.

“My people died, Daniel’s Jack," Aethra drives on relentlessly.  "They were not willing to fire upon yours, only upon Simpson, and we were too slow to respond to the sudden attack.  We had gone there together, thinking only to help, and instead we died, for Simpson hid himself behind the Ashavan until my friends died and I too fell, and then he killed the two of your men we did not.”

“Hanrahan and Tomelty were each struck high in the back, and Hanrahan also in the chest,” Janet says in tight voice.

“The sergeant was strong, and he saw the Truth of it all before he died.”

“You’re saying everyone died because – because they wanted to help Daniel, and Simpson tricked you all? And Daniel saw this?  He KNEW?”  I don’t want to believe it, but it all makes terrible sense.  Nothing else fits.

“Oh, God,” Janet gasps.  “This will destroy Daniel.”

“It is NOT his blame!” Aethra growls.  “But I fear it is his sorrow.  He did not see all, for Simpson struck him hard at the head, but he saw enough, and he is quick to see the Truth of everything.”

“We need to see it for ourselves.  We’re going to speak to Simpson,” I say flatly.  “Major, with me.”

We stop outside in the hallway for a moment, Janet turning blindly to lean against the wall.  “All those people,” she chokes.  “Dead because of one man.”

“Simpson.”

“If what they're saying is true, he’s the only one who knows where Daniel is.  How far do we take it, Sir?”

“All the way.”

Janet turns to face me.  “He’s one of ours.”

“If this is true,” I parrot savagely, “he beat the shit out of Daniel, killed his own men and killed a lot of completely innocent people.  Daniel could die if we don’t get to him soon.  Agreed?”

“Agreed, but, Sir, anger doesn’t help.  Simpson fooled Daniel, Aethra, all these people.”

Anger?  Doesn’t BEGIN to cover the rage tearing through me.  I trusted Daniel to Simpson, we trusted his men to him.  He betrayed everyone’s trust, betrayed his oath of service and the uniform he wears.  He’s DEAD.

“Sir, you’re – you’re in love with Daniel and you’re beyond thinking clearly right now.”

“I am in love with Daniel,” I admit bitterly, “and by God, I’m not beyond thinking clearly for him.  Who the hell sent the GDO signal through, Janet?  The whole of SG-11 was dead.  Aethra’s people were dead.  We saw them.  Aethra?  She was wounded.  We saw that too. And even then, how would she have gotten the code?  Who told her?  Daniel?  No way!  Simpson?  If not her, then who?  Who does that leave?”

“Simpson.”

“Eda said they sent Escobar’s body through after Simpson tossed out the rest of his trash.  They got there in time to stop him retrieving Daniel and taking off through the gate.  Or laying low until the heat died down.  ONLY Simpson could have sent that GDO signal.  So I prove that, and then we take it all the way, make him give up Danny.” Janet took another oath that means a lot to her.  Won’t make her break it.  “You can sit this one out, Doctor,” I say curtly.

“No, Sir, I won’t.  Daniel is my friend.  Please, leave this to me.  If Simpson sees you coming, he’ll shut down.  Time is on his side.  He knows Daniel’s condition better than anyone.  All he has to do is wait us out until Daniel dies out there,” Janet snaps.

He won’t wait ME out.  I’m going to start by kneecapping the bastard.

“SIR.”

“I handed Daniel over to him.  If Daniel dies, I’m the one who killed him.”  I didn’t mean to say that.  Fucker just boiled up out of nowhere.

Janet’s face crumples and she steps in close, hugs me hard.

“I didn’t even speak to him.  I just swallowed every lie that bastard told.  I just found Daniel.  I can’t lose him.  Whatever it takes to get him back, I’ll do it.  I’ll sell my soul, no question.  I won’t balk now at murder."

“Sir, trust me.  Please, please trust me,” Janet begs.  “We CAN’T let Simpson know we suspect him.”

It’s hard to see past this anger, this fear, to think only of Daniel and not of me, but eventually I nod.  Take a deep, harsh breath.  Focus.

“A sweep of the forest.  Searching for Daniel.  Tell Simpson we’ll split up.  You go with him.  Alone,” I order.  “He’ll think he can take you.”  Can he?

“He won’t,” Janet’s voice is iron hard as she steps away from me, scrubbing at her eyes.

“You’re a doctor.”

“I’m a soldier.”

“Aethra and I will follow,” I’ve no doubt whatsoever she’ll be back on her feet in no time.  Motivated.  “Get Simpson to lead you to Daniel, radio your position.  We’ll close in and effect a rescue.  If you have to take Simpson out, do it.”

“Yes, Sir,” Janet nods emphatically and strides off to finesse the murdering bastard.

 

* * *

“Daniel’s Jack?”

“I got a name of my own Aethra, try using it some time, will ya?” I snap, wearily clambering over yet another lightning-struck tree.  We’re not talking nice leafy evergreens.  Fucking primordial wolf-pack kinda forest, here.  I’m still nowhere near convinced this tracking device of Aethra’s is working.  We seem to be wandering round and round in ever decreasing circles, haven’t seen so much as footprint in the rotting vegetation that litters the forest floor, let alone a distant glimpse of Janet or Simpson.  Or any sign whatsoever of Daniel.

“I speak True,” Aethra snaps back.  “You ARE his, it is seen.”

I freeze in my tracks and turn to glare up at her.  “Well, you made sure everybody goddamn sees it,” I snarl.  Right in front of Taylor.  I’m gonna be facing court-martial at this rate.  “This stuff is PRIVATE.  Just call me Jack, okay?  We’ll all get along much better that way.”  And I won’t be warming up a jail cell instead of warming up Daniel.

Aethra sniffs as she jumps nimbly over the fallen tree.

“It will make Daniel unhappy,” I cut to the chase.  The sniff is slightly more co-operative this time.

“You are ashamed of being Daniel’s lover?”

GIVE ME STRENGTH.

“NO.  Daniel and I just have to keep our private lives PRIVATE.  You get that?”  Blundering blindly through the bush is hard enough without Twenty Frigging Questions along for the hike.  Aethra shoots me a hard look.  “It’s taboo, okay?  Not to me, not to Daniel, but to some.”

“The Doctor?”

“Maybe,” I admit reluctantly, raising my weapon as we cautiously skirt a small clearing.

“The knowing of this love brings trouble to your door?” Aethra asks.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean the feelings aren’t real.”  What the hell am I doing?  She slip me a shot of sodium pentathol when I wasn’t looking?  I glance down, flip, check, seal.

“It is but a moment since the last of your checks of that device, Daniel’s Jack,” Aethra lays a gentle hand over mine.  “Wishing and wanting will not make the time pass quicker.”

“Thanks!  Really.  That’s just SO helpful,” I drawl.  “Is that thing working?” I demand, gesturing to the tracking device sitting on her wrist.

“It is.  The Doctor is day-pe-adar – “ Aethra catches my eye.  “She is still moving, in that direction,” she points confidently to our left flank.  “Close enough so we may reach her side if she stops for more than a few seconds.”

Before Danny or Janet gets hurt, right?  We’ll reach them before that.  Right.

“It will be well, Daniel’s Jack,” Aethra says softly.  “He lives.  This I know.”

I don’t.  I want – need – hope.  I don’t KNOW.  It’s killing me I don’t know, that I had to put Daniel’s life into Janet’s hands.  Jesus, she walked out of that session with Simpson and puked her guts out.  She played him beautifully.  With surgical precision.  Between us, we played him.  Aethra sent out two man teams, I sent out my guys in two man teams, then vented all my anxiety publicly just so Janet could give me a dressing down and insist I was ‘too close’ to the problem.  Aethra raised the roof and called Simpson names, but grudgingly gave him permission to help in the search and clear his name.  I think she threw up too, after lying.  I’ve grasped what store these Imanish put in the Truth.  I know I came close to puking.  Lying, two-faced, murdering bastard.  The general wants Daniel found and Simpson in a goddamn cell in that order.  I’m with him on Danny, but Simpson dies for this.  I’ll fucking swing it somehow.  For Danny.  For our guys.   For all the innocent Imanish.  For Janet, having to suck it up and make nice with Simpson.  For everyone back on base who can’t believe one of our own did this.  For me.  Simpson makes Maybourne look clean, and that’s something I thought would never happen.

“Anything?” I ask.

A single gunshot crashes through the forest and Aethra is storming past me, widening the gap as we tear over greasy, treacherous debris; a second shot, CHRIST, what the FUCK, what HAPPENED; hurdling tree-falls, rocks; ANOTHER shot; my knee throbbing, lungs burning, harsh; heart stuttering sickeningly.  Bursting out into a rank, rock strewn clearing.

OhgodohgodohGOD.

“DANNY!”  Look at him, Jesus, God, look at the STATE of him.  Tied by the neck to a fucking tree.  HURT.  Can’t hear me?  Out?  Nothing.  Getting NOTHING here.

“SIR!  Cover!”  Janet hollers and I dive, roll, come up on one knee behind the nearest boulder as Aethra hurls herself flat in a small hollow in the ground and a soft flare of light from my left flank almost takes her head off.

“AHRIMAN!” she screams, rolling around and returning fire with a vengeance.

Deliberate.  Simpson.  Deliberate.  Wants Daniel alive.  Still.  Daniel - not in the direct line of fire for anyone.  Janet closest.  Got between Simpson and Danny when it went South on her.  Thank Christ and Janet, Simpson can’t use Daniel for cover and won’t use him as a target until he has no choice.  He'll be dead before that.

DANIEL.  Just hang on, kid.  I’m HERE.  I’ve got ya.

“Put up your guns!” Simpson yells.

“Fuck you!” I howl.

“I’ll shoot him!”

“You won’t!”

Simpson fires at the tree Daniel is tied to, slicing a branch clean off, fucking thing misses Danny by inches.

“How much are you willing to bet, Jacky-boy?  One shot kills.”

“Two for Hanrahan!” Janet spits.

We’re pinned down.  Only one way outta this mess.  Major Simpson?  Say hello to Mr Grenade.

I grab my grenade, pop up like Jack-in-the-box, pull the pin, throw at where the voice is coming from, drop flat as the soft light flares out and takes out a fucking tree behind me.  Wait for Janet’s rapid fire, scramble to my feet and out from behind my rock, race for the treeline, stumbling, FUCKING rocks!  Get clear.  Flank the fucker.  Dead now, Simpson.  Dead.  Coming to GET you.

Soft flare of light and a whoomph as another tree branch is taken out over Janet’s head.  Movement up the centre.  Aethra, making herself a target.  Shit.  MOVE, O’Neill.  Move.

THERE.

Gotcha you fucker, gotcha.  Time to DIE.  Sharp crack.  Branch under my foot.  CHRIST.  Simpson spinning, raising his dinky little ray gun, firing as I fake to the left and return fire, empty half the clip as the fucker rolls away, bullets pounding into the ground behind him.  Up.  He’s up and moving.  Crappy angle, Danny directly behind.  I’m tracking.  Tracking.  NOT gonna get to Danny.  NOT.  DYING time!  First shots take him high in the shoulder, spinning him away me.  Shots from the right flank, from Janet, Simpson staggering, dancing as the bullets strike, wrenched around to face me, Janet tearing into Simpson’s back as I keep firing, firing, empty the whole fucking clip into his chest, bullets jerking into him, holding him up.  Dropping him.

“DANNY!”  Stumbling forward, kneeling, checking Simpson’s pulse.  DEAD.  Up and out and over to Daniel and Janet, Aethra untying the rope, fingers fumbling in her haste.  I throw down my weapon, drop to my knees and gather him to me as he falls.  Hold on gently, cradling, easing him flat to the ground.  “JANET!”

Janet nods curtly and launches into an examination, her small hands deft and sure.  “Broken cheekbone, tissue damage from repeated manipulation of the break.  Severe bruising and lacerations.  Possible concussion.” She slices boldly through Daniel’s stained, sodden T-shirt.  Her hands skim down his torso, her lips thinning.  “Broken collarbone.  Severe bruising here, too.”  Gentle probing at his side.  “Three broken ribs.” Janet efficiently slices off Daniel’s pants and glides her hands over his legs, frowning over the deep scratches and bruising.  Her hands go still on Daniel’s thighs.  The bruising goes all the way up.

I want to kill the fucker again.  Too slow, he DIED way too FUCKING slow.

“Sir?  Aethra?  I need the thermal blankets and the stretcher.  Even with the gehan drug to repair the damaged tissues, Daniel won’t be in any fit state to walk.”  When neither of us moves, Janet spares me a glance from Daniel.  “I have to do a FULL examination.  Give me room to work, here.  MOVE.”

“I will go,” Aethra offers, taking off at a dead run.

“Sir, please.”

I reluctantly turn my back and fight down the wave of nausea choking me.  A full examination.  The bruising on his thighs.  All the way up.  “Was - was he assaulted?”  It happens.  In the rulebook.  If the subject resists –  Power and control.  Humiliation.  All about pressure.  Pile on the pressure until the subject cracks, and this – say it, O’Neill, face it – RAPE – this destroys.

A harsh, gasping sob gives me my answer.  Relief.  Pure, heartbreaking relief.

“J-Jack?” Daniel whispers.

I’m on my knees by his side in a heartbeat, cupping his battered face gently, resting my forehead against his.  “I’ve got you, you’re safe, it’s OVER, he’s dead, safe now, Danny.  You’re safe.”  I’m crucified by the naked anguish in his eyes, dulled and clouded by pain and grief.  “Not your fault.  None of this.”

“Not yours,” he whispers, a gentle hand cupping my face for a moment.  “Love you.”

“I love you too,” I lean in to tenderly kiss his split, swollen lips, making him hiss, but still he kisses me back.

“Sir,” Janet says insistently.  “Daniel needs to take the gehan now.”

I release Daniel reluctantly and get out of Janet’s way.  Daniel tries out a tiny smile and murmurs her name, wearily.

“I have to give you a couple of shots now, Daniel.  You’ll feel two sharp scratches in your arm, nothing to worry about.  Antibiotics to fight infection, and something for the pain.  Then I need you to drink something for me.”

“’kay.”

Janet prepares the first syringe, her voice hypnotically calm and soothing as she glares at me for crowding her.  I back off at least an inch and hold Daniel’s hand between mine.  His hands aren’t marked.  He needs them for the fucking keyboard.

“First shot coming up, Daniel.  A sharp scratch, there, now it’s all over.”  Janet prepares the second syringe briskly.  “Last shot coming up, then I’ll set you up on a saline drip, get some fluids into you.  Do you think you can swallow, Daniel?”

Daniel shakes his head, just a little.  At Janet’s nod I uncork my canteen, splash a few drops of water onto my fingers and ease them between his lips.  Daniel sighs as the coolness slips into his parched throat.

“I’ve seen the gehan work with my own eyes, but it still goes against the grain to permit this,” Janet says wryly, stroking her hand softly through Daniel’s hair as I patiently feed him the drops of water.  “Okay, that’s enough.  Drink this, Daniel, as much as you can,” Janet encourages as Daniel sips, grimaces, hisses with pain, and sips again.  He balks with barely half the ampoule drunk and Janet shakes her head.  “All of it.”

“I’ll do it,” I reach across and take it from her, drizzle some of the amber liquid onto my fingers and ease them back into Daniel’s mouth, coax him to suckle every last drop as Janet carefully cleans his wounds.  When she’s satisfied that none of the inflamed, angry wounds are infected I help her to settle Daniel in a thermal blanket.

I’d give anything to be able to hold him, but with all the wounds - every single wound marring him, hurting him, every one an insult and reproach to us for FAILING him - the gehan has to heal, it will be hours before he’s up to it. Hours.  Jeez.  We’re looking at weeks in the Infirmary here by our standards.

“I didn’t do it,” Daniel murmurs drearily.

“We know that, Daniel,” Janet says at once, invoking medical privilege and a sharp smack attack to win the tussle over who gets to stroke his hair this time.  “We’re very proud of you.”

Power monger.  I nurse my stinging hand sullenly.

“Wouldn’t do what Jack wanted.”

Janet stiffens a little and matches me look for anxious look.  Is he hallucinating?

“Jack kept telling me to do it, but I didn’t.  Not even when he talked about Jack.  Jack told me Jack was the best.”

“Jack?” I ask weakly.

“Major Misery Simpson Jonathan Jack not MY Jack.  My Jack is the best.  Best there is.  Inspiration to us all,” Daniel singsongs.

“Best there is at what, Daniel?” I say gently.

“Best there is at hurting people, Jack.  Jack told me how.  Jack showed me how you hurt people, Jack.  Put his knee on my throat just like you showed me.  Cut off the air supply.  Hold it.  As long as you like and the subject can take it.  Make the subject panic.  Pressure.”

I flinch back from the soft tone and the hard, cutting words.  True.  Christ, yes.  Pressure is what they teach you.

“You wouldn’t do that.  Not my Jack.”

I did that.  I did that to Rayner and by God, I enjoyed it.  I got off on choking the smugness out the loveless bastard.  Never told Danny what I did.  What I am.  What I can and will do.  For him.  For me.  For my kids.  And I’d do it again and again, no hesitation, hard as I had to.  Have to.  Don’t – don’t want to.  Don't.

“I’d never hurt you, Daniel.”

“Know that,” Daniel chides.  “Jack hurt me.”

“God,” Janet sighs, knuckles white where her hand is gripping her thigh.

“Got guts though.  More than Jack imagined.  For a bleeding heart - ”

“Daniel,” I plead.

“ - who likes taking it up the ass.  Give it up to you, give it up to him,” Daniel murmurs giddily.

Bastard.  I hate that bastard so much my hands are shaking.  Using my name.  Using ME to hurt Daniel, hurt him in every single way.  I love Daniel, we’ll make love, when he’s ready.  Take it up the ass?  Not fucking.  NEVER that.  Always and only an act of love.  “Janet?”

“Sonovabitch,” Janet spits.  She takes a deep, shaky breath.  “It’s the morphine, Sir.  Must be reacting with the gehan.  Daniel wouldn’t normally – I mean – he’s so stoic – I – “

“He’s telling us stuff he’ll lie his ass off about later,” I say flatly as Janet flounders.  “When we ask him how he is and he says ‘fine’.  He always says ‘fine’.”

“Not fine,” Daniel grumbles. “Hurts.  Kiss it better?”

I shrug at Janet.  Better get that cell warmed up, ‘cause I’m not saying no.

“That’s an order, Sir,” she snaps, rising jerkily to her feet.  “I’ll wait for Aethra.”

So I lay down beside Daniel, lay a careful arm lightly across him, and softly kiss his dazed, dirty, beautiful, hurting face.  Tell him I love him, I have him, he’s safe.  Listen to every aching, stricken word.  Erigone’s blood wiped on her own dress.  Escobar knowing what a terrible mistake he made before he died too.  Died because Daniel said no.  Said it and said it.  No.  Escobar’s little girl, his Sancia, his little heart.  Listen and hurt for him.   Keril’s shaking hand.  Hanrahan roaring as it turned to shit and Keril died.  Aethra, suffering and absolving him of blame.  I listen to his dreary litany, suffer with him for the godawful pointless, merciless tragedy of it all, listen until the tears come, and blessedly he passes out at last.


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slash: Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Category: Action/Adventure. First Time. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.  
> Season/Spoilers: Season 4. Follows events in The Curse and Double Jeopardy.  
> Synopsis: Daniel and Jack learn - and teach - difficult lessons in honesty and faithfulness.  
> Warnings: Minor character death. Violence. Language. Intense situations.

DANIEL

A steady, comforting heartbeat under my cheek.  My broken cheek?  Not - not hurting.  Not – “Jack?”

“Doctor’s orders,” a beloved voice insists defiantly as familiar, necessary arms tighten around me.  “The nakedness is STRICTLY therapeutic.”

“Nothing hurts,” I say in wonderment.  Nothing.  Everything.  I lift my head and gaze into Jack’s soft, knowing eyes.

“How are you, kid?”

“I’m fine.”

I don’t understand the grimace that tightens Jack’s lips, but I’ve no objection at all when he draws me close and kisses me.  Kisses me like he’s afraid to break me, and, damn, it’s over too soon.  I want to bask in Jack, want his warmth to heat my veins.  Burn me.  Burn away the faces.  Want only to see his dear face.  Only his.  Not - not - “Make love to me,” I gasp.

“No.”

Tender.  Regretful.  Adamant.  “Jack!”

“No.”

“Jack, please.  Please.”

He cups my face roughly, thumb stroking my broken, pain free cheek tenderly.  “I want to.  You’ve no idea how much I want to.”

I wriggle against him, making him gasp.  Got a firm idea.

“O-kay, you got a pretty good idea how much I want to, sorry about that, but still, the answer is no,” Jack says firmly, smiling sweetly at me.

“Why not?”  Make it stop, Jack.  Make them stop, make them go away.  Too much.  Can't TAKE this, them, me, you.  Need YOU.

“The best there is,” Jack states in a clinical, detached voice.

“At hurting people,” I whisper, freezing, shaking.

“You told me everything, Daniel.  Everything.  You’re healing pretty near perfectly physically, thanks to the local miracle juice, though Janet HAS taken pity and ordered as much supervised bed rest as my willpower can take, but emotionally, you’re pretty beat up right now.  I know because you just told me you’re fine.  So right now, cuddling is fine, and some kissing, that’s okay too, the bath thingy has some sort of setting for glacier melt water.   And as much confiding as you like,” Jack serenely orders.

“Confiding?”

“I got you naked, in bed, on SGC time and more or less under orders.  Damn straight you’re confiding.  Aethra’s told half the frigging world I’m Daniel’s Jack, including the general, which he took without a blink, thank God, but it’s only a matter of time before the penny drops and I got bars and visiting hours in my future.  You betcha you’re talking.  That’s what lovers do.”

“Lovers figuratively speaking,” I pout.

“Daniel, I thought I’d LOST you.  I handed you over to this bastard Simpson.  I fucked up and you almost DIED because of it.  SG-11 died, Erigone and Keril, and the others.  They DIED.  It’s my fault.  Janet’s.  The general’s.  WE did this.  We’re responsible.” Jack uses a tone I’ve never heard from him before. Harsh.  Agonised.  “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m here, I’m alive,” I reassure, holding him tight to me.

“Don’t tell me it’s not eating you up inside because you’re still alive,” Jack chokes.  “Don’t shut me out here.  Don’t do that to me.”

“I said no,” I gasp, caught by Jack’s raw pain, Jack’s need.

“You had to.  You had no choice.  We know what was at stake, Aethra told us everything.  You did the right thing, the only thing,” Jack says emphatically.  “TRY – try to believe that, Daniel, try for me, okay?”

I shake my head.

“You made a choice, the right choice.  Everyone else made their own choice.  Not you, Daniel.  Not you.  You didn’t make or take a choice for anyone else.  You can’t try to shoulder blame for it, Daniel, it cheapens their loss, their sacrifice.”

“Jack,” I gasp, protesting.

“Aah, Danny, I know.  This shit, I KNOW.  Been here so many damn times, try to keep you clear of it, all my kids, but not this time.  Couldn’t this time.  I wasn’t here.  You can’t change this, can’t undo it.  You can only accept it, learn from it, and move on.”

“Forget?”

“It’s what I do,” Jack says steadily.  “I have more trouble with forgiving.”

"Erigone, Ramon, Keril- all of them, Jack, they all died for me," I whisper.

"They died because of Simpson," Jack snarls.  "The blame isn't yours.  It's Simpson's, his alone.  His agenda.  Whatever the hell it was."

"He - he planned it," I want only truth between us, but this is hard, so hard, telling him things I know will hurt him.  I know, because they hurt me, and I'm not writhing under the lash of an oath betrayed, as Jack and Janet and the others must be.

"Planned?" Jack snaps, lifting his head so stare at me, flushing and furious.

"From the moment he knew I was coming.  He was never letting me return to the SGC.  Too valuable a commodity, he said.  My gaining access to the weapons specs was an unexpected bonus.  I was going to be his meal ticket.  His way out.  He needed one.  He had people waiting for him on Earth, waiting to terminate with extreme prejudice."

"People like me," Jack snaps, eyes harsh and unforgiving.

I lean in and kiss his rigid, resistant lips until he melts beneath me.  "No, Jack.  Not like you.  You have a conscience and principles.  You always try to do the right thing, as hard and as well as you can."

"Not always," he mutters.

"Always," I insist.  Even when he does the wrong thing, he's trying to do right.  I take a deep breath.  It's going to be even harder, telling him this part.  "He decided to - to keep me.  Said he'd finally realised what kept you coming back for more and - "

"And you should give it up," Jack interrupts savagely.  "Did he try to take it?  Did he?"

"Does it matter?  Would you think less of me if - if - "

"NO.  What hurts you hurts me.  I guess I have my answer.  You've got that 'I'm fine' look on your face again."

"I was too hurt.  My r-ribs.  He w-was concerned about p-puncturing a lung," I whisper into the warm, welcoming hollow of Jack's throat.  I can't even look him in the eye.

"Big of him."  I feel Jack swallow, convulsively.  "He put his hands on you."  It's not a question.  He knows the answer.

"I'm not afraid of you," I insist, voice as steady as I can make it.  It helps that Jack is putting HIS hands on me now, warm, heavy, soothing strokes covering every inch of my back, shoulders, arms, hair.  Jack's scent on my skin.  "Simpson only had power over me if I LET him, Jack.  He'd get nothing he hadn't taken, and that's not my fault, but his.  I was only humiliated if I allowed myself to be.  Simpson couldn't make me a victim.  Only I could do that."

"Ah, Danny, I'm proud of you," Jack chokes, lips soft in my hair.  "Damned proud.  You did everything that was asked of you and more.  You did right by Escobar, let him do his duty.  And the men, they did their duty too.  Don't carry the weight of this, let it go."

"I'll try," I promise, "But I can't forget."  Every moment Jack doesn't fill I see them, hear them.  Feel.  Know.

"I'm not telling you not to grieve, just don't shut me out, Daniel," Jack asks softly.

"Will you make love to me?"

"Daniel," Jack sighs.

"I need your hands on me, Jack.  I need you."

A sharp rap on the door has Jack yelping and yanking the covers up over our heads.

"I knew it!" a terrible voice rages.  "I can't trust you to follow the SIMPLEST of instructions!"

Jack's eyes beg, help me!

"Hello, Janet," I venture cautiously.

"Daniel," Janet says soothingly.  "I instructed the colonel to sit in the CHAIR and WATCH.  Up and out, Sir!"

"I'm already up!" Jack whispers desperately.  "Couldn't BE more up."

"Janet, I - I don't feel well," I whimper, heroically accepting my fate.

"Outta there!" Janet snaps.  "Sir."

I smile reassuringly at Jack, nod my understanding, then he peels left as I peel right, rolling flat on my back clutching the sheet, and Jack hits the floor with a fair bit of him covered by the quilt.

Janet is looking daggers at Jack, who's desperately clutching the quilt, the picture of guilt.

"I was confiding," I murmur shyly, batting my eyes impartially at both combatants.

Janet's look is eloquent of disbelief while Jack's whole face melts from terror to softness.  He smiles right back at me as he sidles towards the door of the bathing chamber, occasionally shooting wary, irritated looks at our Napoleonic power monger.

"Not tonight, Josephine," she sneers as Jack gives me a last sympathetic glance and makes a break for it, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

"I WAS confiding," I insist.

Janet turns to me, and smiles warmly.  "I'm glad to hear it Daniel.  As your doctor and as your friend I'm ordering you to keep right on talking," she grins and heads purposefully over to me, dropping a bundle of fresh fatigues onto the chair.

"Why, exactly, don't you feel well?  Apart from a surfeit of pushy, know-it-all colonel?"

I don't think it's at all cowardly of me to flinch.

 "Um - Janet?" I ask tentatively.

"Doctor patient confidentiality," Janet says fluently, glancing at the door the pushy, know-it-all colonel is currently cowering behind.

We were in bed.  Together.  Naked.  "It's - it's okay?"  I wouldn't for the world have our friends or Jack's fellow officers thinking less of him because of me.

Janet's fingers gently pat my cheek.  "You could do better," she says critically.

"I heard that!" Jack yells indignantly.

Janet winks at me, then in the next moment Doctor Fraiser is ready to perform a thorough, not to say protracted examination.  Of everything.  Including conclusive proof I'm still pure as the driven snow.  She thaws somewhat to Jack and allows him to emerge from the bathroom long enough to retrieve his uniform.  He'd be unbearably smug if he knew just what faith Janet has in his powers of seduction, so I've no intention of telling him, and anyway, Janet quashed any pretensions he had to anything with a long, steady look and a musing comment about the Air Force weight requirements.

"Sir!"

"Heel!" Jack yells back, emerging cautiously.

"I'm satisfied Daniel is close to being fully healed, close enough to get up if he takes it easy. The general has requested that I return to the SGC.  Teal'c isn't exactly being the model patient," she says wryly.

"Teal'c?" I gasp.  "He's hurt?"

"We've been busy," Jack says dryly, pushing it a little, and sprawling out on the bed next to me. "We killed Cronus and bagged his mothership."

"My God," I breathe.  "Teal'c?"

"The symbiote was hurt during the struggle with Cronus, Daniel.  Teal'c's immune system was compromised, but both he and the symbiote are doing better.  He'll make a full recovery, far more rapidly than I'd predicted."

"Motivated," Jack mutters glumly.

"Aethra has summoned you and Daniel to a meeting, Sir.  With your permission?"

"Go," Jack says lightly.  "Taylor is holding the Stargate.  If you've got access to the transport system?"  Janet nods. "Take off.  Teal'c needs you more than Daniel."  Janet smiles at me and turns away.  "Major?  You did a hell of a job.  Hell of a job," Jack says gravely.

Janet flushes as I murmur my own thanks.  "You saved my life."

"It was my duty," Janet's face tightens for a moment.  "And my privilege."  She nods gently and heads on out.

"Time to dress and get some food in you," Jack says heartily.  "So stop doing that."

"What?" I ask innocently.

"THAT!  That stroking thing."

Stroking?  No.  Just writing my name on Jack's thigh.  Over and over.  Just one finger, and so many languages.

"Ashavan?"

"Aethra!"

Aethra bounds in, stops short at the sight of Jack lingering by my side and summons up a scowl worthy of Janet.  "You are well again, dear one?  It is my joy to see."

"Come, you will eat.  Eda has prepared all for you," Eda says dotingly as she staggers in with a huge tray groaning with delicious smells.  Gentleman Jack doesn't even attempt to offer assistance.  Too embarrassing if he can't lift the tray at all.

"You will eat, and then you must come down to us, Ashavan," Aethra says gravely.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Aethra," I sigh, holding her gaze.

"Our sorrow for yours, Ashavan."

Eda bustles over and kisses me heartily on the cheek, sighing.  "So beautiful," she admires.

"It is seen," Aethra says fondly, stealing her kiss too.

Jack pauses in his investigation of the snacks, eyes lighting with unholy amusement.

"Come, Eda, we will leave the Ashavan and Daniel's Jack in peace," Aethra grins wickedly at Jack.

"Daniel's Jack?" I query gently.

Jack deliberately takes a massive bite out of a crisp, golden pastry oozing meat and gravy, and ostentatiously avoids my eye.   
"It is seen," Eda chuckles as they head out the door.

"That's sweet," I murmur provocatively, reaching for the sherbet.  "Tell me about Cronus.  When you've quite finished scarfing down that pie," I say critically.  "It's meant to serve four or five, you know."

 

* * *

JACK

"I can't raise Taylor on the radio."  Only a few minutes late for the check-in.  Maybe I'm getting soft in my old age.  Jumpy.  I glance at Daniel.  Alright already.  Overprotective.

Daniel pales a little, so I hitch closer to him.  Try to reassure.  They can't be in danger. There's no threat here. We've been sitting on the warm grass all afternoon listening to the Imanish Speak for their dead.  It's been hard for Daniel to hear, and harder still for him to Speak, but he's hanging in so far, and he's better for knowing nobody here blames him for what happened.  Everyone feels responsible, including him. And me.

"I have given no orders, Daniel's Jack," Aethra says at once.  "My people are here."

"I gave the order, Ervad," a rich, very male voice calls from the outskirts of the crowd, which does a Red Sea kinda thing to let the speaker through.

Aethra gasps and leaps to her feet, every single one of the Imanish following.  Then they bow with profound  respect as a tall, and even to my eyes drop-dead gorgeous, red-headed man strides towards us.

I rise to my feet, lending Daniel a hand.  He's still a little - a lot - shaky.

The man plants himself right in front of me and Daniel, doesn't miss my instinctive step forward.  "Your people are safe, returned through the gate.  My word no harm has come to them."

"Your word?" I snap.

"You must not speak so, Daniel's Jack," Aethra prompts.

Daniel is staring up at the man, speechless.  Stricken.

"I am Tylissus, Ardashir of the Imanish," the man says, bowing slightly to Daniel.  "You are the Ashavan?"

Daniel stiffens.  "I am Daniel Jackson."

"It is well."

"Is it?  You've taken my people," I step forward.

"The Ashavan Speaks for you.  I bid you hold your tongue," Tylissus orders.

"You - you look just like - her eyes," Daniel stammers.

"You see True, Ashavan.  Brother I am to Erigone," Tylissus' lips tighten.  "Brother I was.  I must have the Truth of this matter.  You will face Arash, Ashavan, and Speak for your faithless people."

No.  I don't like this.  Do not like this at all.  Arash?  Some kind of trial?  Kangaroo frigging Court more like.  "If anybody 'faces' anything, pal, it's me!" I snap.  "I'm responsible, here."

"You are mistaken.  The Ashavan Speaks for you all.  It is seen," Tylissus contradicts stonily.

A murmur of warm agreement runs through the crowd.  I've seen with my own eyes the respect these people have for Daniel, but he's a civilian.  He's MY responsibility.

"The Ashavan Speaks True, Ardashir.  THAT is seen!" Aethra cries fierily.  "The Ashavan made Kriya, judged True by us all."

"Though he may be True, the Ashavan Speaks for a faithless people, Ervad," Tylissus remonstrates.  "Liars.  Murderers.  Breakers of oaths.  Our people lie dead, as do theirs.  Our sorrow for the loss, but still the Ashavan must answer.  He must face Arash and Speak."

"Daniel!  What the HELL is going on here?"

Daniel lays his hand over mine.  "The Arash is a trial, Jack, amongst other things.  It's a moot - a striving for the Truth.  I have to Speak.  I'm responsible," he tells me  gravely.

"For Simpson?  That's NUTS!" I yell.  "You're a civilian.  That bastard was responsible for you.  Just like I am, now."

"Not just for Simpson, Jack.  I Speak for my people."

"A faithless people," Aethra sighs, "Though the Ashavan is True."

"We must have the Truth of this matter," Tylissus says yet again.

"They're putting you on trial for the sins of mankind?" I ask incredulously.

"He is Ashavan," Tylissus says simply.  "Speaker for his people."

"What kind of penalty are we talking about here?" My gut is clenching again.

"Lives were taken."

"An eye for an eye, a life for a life?" I want to hear no.  I want to hear we slap you on the wrist and you go home and you never darken our Stargate again.

"It is possible," Aethra bites her lip, eyeing Daniel anxiously.  "It is known."

"Daniel is the victim here, not the perpetrator!  He's innocent.  He's got no blood on his hands.  He's NOT responsible, I am."

"The Ashavan has no blood on his hands, but you do.  He Speaks for you.  He IS responsible."

Janet and I killed Simpson and Daniel carries the can for that too?  He was out cold, tied to a tree for God's sake.  Get real!

"Jack, don't confuse fault and responsibility.  Nothing that happened was my fault, but according to Imanish law it was all my responsibility," Daniel says gently.

"And mine," Aethra snaps.  "In my duty I failed."

"Daniel is under MY command, how can he be responsible when I give the orders, and he obeys?"  I demand.  The fucking death penalty?  What ground are we gonna cover here?  Simpson?  Me?  Humanity?  We start talking holocaust, pogroms, religious persecution - Jesus.  Daniel won't lie.  He won’t.  "I'm the military officer, Daniel is a civilian.  He's under my protection and I take full responsibility for ALL of his actions.  If anybody 'faces' anything, it has to be me."

"This is not True.  You will be returned safe through the gate to your people.  The Ashavan returns with me to Iman, to face Arash."

"I'm not going anywhere, pal."

"Jack," Daniel warns.

I shake off his restraining hand.  "You take Daniel over my dead body," I say softly.  "And yours."

Tylissus stops and actually takes his first good look at me.  I think I've been background noise until now.  A loud, persistent annoying buzz.  Just getting warmed up.  Haven't touched maddening.  Yet.

He frowns.  "You Speak True.  It is seen.  Very well, you may accompany the Ashavan.  It may yet be that he requires your service.  It is seen that he is still far from well.  We will go at once, that he may rest and be at ease."

"Aethra?"

"The Ashavan is True, Daniel's Jack.  In my heart it is seen that all will be well."

"You're asking me to trust Daniel's life to you people!"

"We are asking you to trust the Ashavan's life to him, Daniel's Jack," Tylissus corrects.

"Try Colonel O'Neill," I snarl.  He's aggravating the crap out of me, on PURPOSE.  We're talking lynch mobs and this fucker is joking?

"Jack," my Ashavan insists, shaking his head at me reprovingly.

"Colonel."

"Jack," Daniel shoots me a 'don't be so damn childish' look.

"It is seen that though you may be Daniel's Jack, perhaps it is also True the Ashavan is Jack's Daniel," Tylissus smiles for the first time since he loomed up outta the blue.  "It seems we may not have the one without the other.  Jack, it is well.  We do not ask you to trust in us, but to trust in your Daniel.  If you cannot do that, you are faithless indeed."

Fucking goddamn too-clever by half SONOVABITCH!  All I hear is Daniel's 'Please' and all I see are melting blue eyes.  Pleading, hopeful, loving - "Give me strength!" I howl.

Tylissus glances at Daniel.  "You have much need of it.  It is seen," he fights down an evil grin.

Aethra and Eda and all the Imanish look to Daniel's indignant face, and suddenly everyone is laughing.  Roaring.  Releasing.   
I got maybe the death penalty.  I got nice people who care about Daniel.  I got Daniel and I realise I got no choice.  I can't shoot my way outta here, and if I try, Daniel will know I didn't trust him to do this.

I got no choice and  I fucking HATE this.  Kept Daniel safe all this time.  I tell Daniel I love him, I want him.  I need him. First time out, Daniel dies, the next he's facing the death penalty?  What is this?  Sarcasm?

I choke it down, strike out wildly for reassuring and trusting, and let Daniel lead me into the lion's den, wondering if I can get the drop on Tylissus at the Stargate.

 

* * *

“Calm yourself, Jack,” Tylissus murmurs soothingly, never taking his eyes from Daniel’s deathly pale face.  “There is no Asha in striking down the Healer, though one wonders just what it is that makes him DALLY so.”

“I’m fine,” Daniel whispers.

“You fainted,” I contradict coldly, refusing to acknowledge a treacherous flash of admiration for Tylissus’ style as the Healer gulps and works that light-thing over Daniel’s abdomen like a man possessed. “The minute we got through the Stargate.”

He took ten years off me, right there, tumbling down in a boneless heap before anyone could catch him.  I had to smack a few people, including Aethra, who smacked me back, HARD, just to get within spitting distance.  So-o.  O-kay.  NOT the brightest of sparks here, admittedly, but even I can work out that whatever the Imanish have in mind for Daniel, imminent death is nowhere on the list.  Nowhere.  It’s marginally possible I MAY have overreacted to the whole death penalty thing. Just a tad.  A soupçon.

“Indeed,” Tylissus crosses his arms and glares stonily at my errant archaeologist with all the natural authority of the man who is king.

Daniel does that thing with his eyes.  That melting, soulful, pleading thing.  Tylissus duly melts like ice cream under a blow torch and takes a hasty step forward before I tread heavily on his foot.  Bastard refuses to even twitch.

“United we stand, Ty.”

Tylissus fails to drag his eyes away from Daniel’s big, beguiling baby blues and Daniel’s luscious pout and all of Daniel’s flawless skin and – “Hey!” I smack Ty in the arm.  Hard.  “Knock it off!  Spoken for!”

“Much has been spoken of the Ashavan’s beauty, but to see him thusly,” Ty looks dazed.  “And you have no respect, Jack.  Ardashir is customary, or Tylissus to those who know me well.”

I’m noted for my ability to make myself at home in any environment.  I can follow local customs with the best of them.  I can render respect where respect is due.  Why should a towering, awe-inspiring granite Citadel perched on the edge of a vast escarpment with a torrential waterfall plummeting precipitously down into the mists and the trackless virgin forest below be any different?  It's not like I'm petty enough to let the aforementioned towering this and majestic that piss me off royally - though not as royally as the royalty  here - and it's easily overlooked in the name of diplomacy.  Also one of my strengths.

“Ty, you don’t get your eyes off Daniel, I’m shooting you dead.  No question.  See the Truth of THAT.”

“When the Imanish warred, a tradition there was.  Khordad-Sal.  A passage of arms to the death, long since forbidden.  We have not warred so in millennia.  How is it then within a day of the knowing of you, it is in me most fervently to repeal that Interdiction and strike you dead?”

“Natural talent,” I admit modestly.  “And, you know, goes without saying here, but right backatcha, Ty.”

Daniel’s eyelids flutter and close.

“What gives!”

“Speak, man!”

The Healer rears back as we close in.  “He sleeps!”

I clear my throat and step back, a little embarrassed.  Overreacting.  More than a tad.  Gotta watch that.  I start acting like Daniel’s mother, he’s gonna drop me for some young stud like Major Davis, who I’ve seem him cosied up to on MORE than one occasion when he thought I wasn’t looking.  This will not happen again.  I got rights now and I’m ALWAYS looking.

“Why?” Ty snaps.

“The gehan was not designed for the Ashavan’s physiology, Ardashir.  This hurt was deeper than we knew, and treatment drove the gehan speedily to do its work where needed most.  The Ashavan will rest and wake healed.”

“That’s what you guys said the last time!”

Ty sniffs and turns to me.  “We will send for YOUR healer if all is not as you wish it to be, Jack.”

“What’s going on here?” I demand.  “Daniel is about to go on trial for a crime he didn’t commit and you guys are bending over backwards with the TLC.  You’d better start talking, Ty, FAST.”  I look at his face and sigh.  “Soon.  I mean talk soon.”

Ty’s face clears and he snaps out some gibberish to the Healer.  “He will remain vigilant by the Ashavan’s side.  Come.  It is well.”

I’m starting to think it is, but I need to KNOW.  I’m not putting Daniel at risk.  I follow Ty out of Daniel’s room and across the hallway into a sitting room.  It finally occurs to me the king of this here castle isn’t actually living the high life.  Everything looks comfortable and slightly battered.  He doesn’t seem to have the run of the place, just these few rooms.  I try to imagine the President sharing the White House with Joe Public or getting his hand slapped for absent-mindedly eating the last of Eda’s cakes, earmarked to tempt Daniel’s woefully meagre appetite.  Try and fail.

Ty sits on a huge carved chair on one side of the fire and beckons me to the other.  The fire is a homey touch.  They got under floor heating.

“The Arash is not what you think it is, Jack.  No threat exists here to the Ashavan but the Ashavan himself.”

“We’ll get through this a lot quicker if you stick to calling him Daniel.”

“In the Arash we seek for Truth, the Truth that all may see.  We do not seek to punish but to help, to heal, to learn.”

“Sounds a little Disney to me.  Your sister died,” I say flatly.  I want to believe.  Want to know it’s okay, Daniel is okay.  Have to have it proved first.

Ty shakes his head sadly.  “Erigone thought Daniel worthy of her life and the grief of her family.  How could we who loved her think the less of him than that, if we would not lessen her sacrifice or Truly mourn her loss?  It grieves me you cannot see the Truth of this, Jack.”

“It’s beyond most of my race,” I acknowledge.  “We want blame and retribution.  Revenge at times.  That I understand.  This turn the other cheek crap gets you dead where we come from.”

“As it once did here, Jack.  If I told how many lives we wasted you would sit in that chair and – “ Ty mimes, not knowing the right word I guess.

“Puke,” I supply obligingly.

“My thanks.  Your language is more colourful than that of the Ashavan.”

“He’s educated.  We try to work around it,” I shrug.

“You would sit in that chair and puke for a week,” Ty says tightly.  “We warred to extinction and when death was at our throat, then it was we faced it, then at last we learned.  No clan names now.  No killing rage or blood-pride.  Only Truth, only Arash and each of us the better for knowing each other.  No secrets, no lies, just lessons learned and remembered.  We can live no other way, for all know the price paid in the earning of it.  We do not forget the past.”

“The trial?”

“Aethra feared Daniel was bowed down with grief for his part in this, for the lives lost.  This I have seen.  He takes the blame for this in full measure, does he not?”

“He does.”  I sit up a little straighter and try using my brain.  My gut says go with it, but my gut had nothing to say about Simpson in the first place and look where it got us.  “I’ve tried to tell him this wasn’t his fault but he isn’t ready to listen yet.”  Maybe not ever.  Janet’s and my biggest concern after his safety.

“He is Ashavan, Jack.  He Speaks for his people,” Ty says gently.

“Takes responsibility.”  It all comes clear.  “You played him.  I missed it.  You played him right in front of me,” I shake my head.  Didn’t see a fucking thing.  Played me for a fool too.  “ We’re NOT you.  We’re not bound by YOUR laws.  You know for a fact Daniel couldn’t be held responsible for Simpson any more than he can be held responsible for me or the rest of humanity.  How did I miss it?  Democracy here.  Not every man for himself, just every person equal.  Daniel can Speak for us, but he can’t control, can’t command.  He’s only responsible for himself and he’s shouldered blame he doesn’t deserve.  You’re not out to prove guilt, you’re out to prove innocence, prove it so True even Daniel can’t deny it.”

I feel sick, light-headed relief blazing through me.

“You speak True, Jack,” Ty’s smile is dazzling.  “Your Truth is not so clear, not so deeply known and felt as the Ashavan’s but it is Truth nonetheless.  It is well.”

It’s very goddamn well.

“So.  Tell me about Yasna.”

 

* * *

DANIEL

Oh, this is NOT good.  This is – this is primal.  There are supposed to be twelve players out there, not two.  Jack isn’t supposed to be flaunting himself in front of me half-naked, muscles glistening and working and taut with effort.  He can’t do this, not when the Healer is so insistent a stiff breeze will knock me on my ass and all I got last night was drool-but-don’t-touch, tender loving care.

Affection?  Keep it.  I want lust.  I want sex.  I want JACK.

“The cake is delicious, thank you, Eda.”

I want raw, animal passion.  I want to sweat and scream.  I want it NOW.

“It is my pleasure, dear one.  You look a little stronger this morning.”  Eda ruffles my hair gently.

I want to be naked.  I want to rock and thrust and strain.  I want my body to SING.

“I slept very well.”

Bastard.  He cuts me off with a supportive hug and then he does THIS?  Right in FRONT of me?  Half-naked?  Bastard.

“It is seen.”

Can’t be MISSED the way he’s flaunting it out there and I WANT it.  He’s mine.  MY Jack.  I want him.

“Your Jack plays Yasna well.  Very well,” Aethra is deliberately casual.  “None have come close to the Ardashir’s skill.   
Ty has ten years, six inches and a hundred pounds of sleek muscle on Jack and my Jack is kicking his ass all over the damn field.

“He’s very fond of hockey, Aethra.”

Colonel Just Say No thinks he knows it all?  Wait until I’ve pinned him flat and written what I feel for him all over every single sweating, heaving, needing inch of him.  If his brain hasn’t melted out of his ears, he can get back to me about knowing it all. 

* * *

"Enjoy your bath?" I ask sweetly.  Bastard.

"Funnily enough, no," Jack says dryly.  "Not after you so helpfully adjusted the temperature.  I survived the initial shock but it's possible I may never function again."

"Good," I snap.  Bastard.  Acres of hot, gleaming skin just - just - I wanted - he - he washed it off.  Took one look at my hopeful, expectant face and bolted.

Jack's eyes go gentle on me.  "I know you're feeling a little frustrated right now," he begins sympathetically.

A LITTLE?  I've had sex ONCE in four years. Um, once voluntarily, that is, and the planet was NEVER in danger, no matter what Jack was screaming at the time.  Four years!

"This is a very natural reaction to stress," Jack says authoritatively.

"I want you," I snarl.  "And if I don't get you in the next sixty seconds, I'm starting on my own."

"Daniel, the Healer says - "

Prick.

I sit up and peel off my T-shirt.  Jack's eyes widen, but I can see he doesn't think I'll do it.  I fumble at my belt, loosen the buckle, got more thumbs than fingers as I pull down the zipper. Daring him to get over here and stop me.  Hitch my butt up off the bed and ease the pants down with more haste than grace.

"Uurgh."

"It was too hot for underwear.  Get over it.  Get over HERE."  Damn him anyway.  If all he'll do is watch, I'd better put on a damned good show. A show good enough to fetch him.

I lie back, stretching out luxuriously.  Close my eyes, allow my hand to glide slowly down my chest, play across my hardening nipples, skim over my navel, settle and rub.  Just sprawling here naked before him, rubbing, working the heel of my hand deep into the groin muscle.  Deep.  Feels GOOD, just here.  I never rush this.  Warms me through.  Frees me to love myself and not hate the loneliness of being the only one who does.  I've fantasised about Jack's hand rubbing just here, Jack's hands on me.  Jack loving me.  Lying in my empty bed night after night, moaning and arching into my hand, abandoned in every sense of the word, my senses full of Jack and longing.  Just like now.

Please, Jack.  Please.  I don't want to be alone anymore.  Can’t you see that?

A heavy, capable hand, lifting mine.  Lips pressed tenderly, lingeringly to the palm.  "I thought you'd never get here," I murmur dreamily, eyelids almost too heavy to lift.

"Traffic was a bitch," Jack teases.

I reach up and hook behind Jack’s eager head, draw him down to me.  I need to taste him.  Need him.  He opens to me at once, and I dive right in to hot, moist, demanding welcome.  Gliding my tongue over his, over and under and over again.  Flickering over his teeth.  Sucking.  Pushing. Teasing.  Gasping as Jack yanks me into his arms and I feel just how hard he is.  Feel what I do to him.

Feel what he does to me.  My heart is pounding as my blood plummets down to needing, throbbing hardness;  I’m trembling violently as I skim down the broad, warm expanse of his back, yank the T-shirt free, craving the sleekness of flowing muscle and sweat-slick smooth skin, Jack in his turn craving me, my touch, arching into my reverent, shaking hand.  Jack wrenches free of my lips long enough to tear off his T-shirt, then he lowers himself, nudging me onto my back, resting a little of his weight onto me.  I insinuate my thigh between his and rub his hardness wantonly, moaning as he swells against me, shuddering and hissing his pleasure.

The velvet of Jack’s eyes transmutes into glittering black desire as he lifts my hands, licks each palm and pins them flat to the pillows, our fingers entwining.  He stares down at me for long, searching moments, leaving me trembling and vulnerable, unworthy of his awe, blinding me with his intensity, the extremity of this inspired passion.  My Jack, completely open and unguarded, loving me.  Loving me.

“I love you, Daniel.”

“And I love you, Jack.”

Jack lowers his face to my seeking one, his kiss a benediction.

“Love you,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I open my lips to his gentle insistence, achingly aware of touch and taste and scent.  The butter-soft sheets warm against my back.  The delicious heavy, hardness of Jack, real and here and filling my senses.  The roughness of his pants, harsh against my striving hips and thighs.  Every quivering ridge of muscle where Jack grazes against me in contained, too careful want.  The strength of callused, killing hands captured and gentled in mine.  My own shivering sun-warmed, Jack-heated skin.  The certainty of Jack’s lips, firm against mine; the rasp and glide of busy, seeking tongues.  Jack tasting of honey and herbs and him, a still-new taste, but dearly known and longed for.  Jack’s spicy tang focusing the heavy, heady scent of arousal.

I’ve dreamed of him gentle like this, never knowing what it would cost him to hold back, never suspecting his body was starving, screaming for this, for me.  Every touch is a whisper, a promise of love against my lips and skin and hair.   In truth, Jack isn’t gentle, his beloved face raging in ecstasy, taut with effortful restraint as he rains kisses over every inch of my face and flexing throat, exulting in my soft pleasure sounds, in the responses he’s drawing from me, my desperation for him.

I’m shaking.  Suddenly shaking apart, fighting back a dead face and harsh, hurting words; vehemently resisted repellent touch.  Jack faltering, retreating.  Protecting.

“L-love me, Jack, please.  Just love me.  I NEED you.”

An endless moment of searching, weighing eyes;  recognition, and acceptance, in his lips trailing down and his tongue as it flicks against my nipple, shocking a spike of heat through my groin.  Jack’s swift, smug smile against my heaving chest as I strain against his holding hands, free myself, reach urgently for his pants, tear at them, Jack hitching up, dragging his pants down with hands shaking as much as mine.

The moment he frees himself I’m on him, shoving him hard against the bed head.  I smile into his widening eyes and lean in close, nuzzling gently against him.

“You’ve fantasised about everything you want to do to me.  With me.  Making love to me,” I say serenely.

Jack’s wicked eyes dance above a sinfully knowing grin as he nods gravely.

Oh, yes.  Yeahsureyoubetcha.

“So tell me?  Has it ever crossed your mind to wonder just what in hell I would do to you?” I ask just as gravely as I straddle his lap, blithely ignoring his hiss of pained pleasure and his widening, slightly apprehensive eyes.  “Going to be doing things now, Jack.  To you.”

Jack gulps as I lean in and trail feather-soft kisses and warm swipes of my tongue over his ears, forehead, cheeks and lips, every part of me alive and singing with the intimacy of this lingering, earnest adoration of the man I love.

“You feel SO good, Jack,” I whisper into the ear I’m nipping at.  Definitely doing things to him.  Under my easy, massaging hands every quaking part of him is pliant, reaching, receptive; his shaft achingly hard and weeping, throbbing and slick against my own burning flesh.  “SO good.”

“Mmm.  Mmmm.”

My Jack, speechless, moaning, stunned and helpless beneath my languid, relentless onslaught, fingers clenched into the pillows, afraid to touch.  “I’ve dreamed of this more than anything.  Kissing you, feeling you like this.  So open, so wanting.  So soft and hard and MINE.”

“Mmm.  MMM.”

I cup his face in tender hands and steal his lips again.  He’s luscious, wanton, opening to me, straining into me, hot, wet, slick.  Groaning as I taste him, pause and savour.  Terribly teasing.  Making him plead and search me out.  I'm terrible.  Plunging back into his mouth as I rock and writhe wantonly on his lap; throbbing, fevered flesh crushed and straining between us, hot and sweaty and musky and magnificently male, my worshipping fingers everywhere on him, stroking, smoothing, soothing the tremors.

“I want to be too much for you, Jack.  Too much for you to handle.”  My own breathing is harsh and short as rich, tormenting pleasure roars through me, barely remembered and never before so immediate, so intense.  Never.

“Christ.  You are.  You ARE,” Jack gasps, reaching for me now, at last, strong, demanding hands scrabbling across my sweat-damp shoulders.  “Always been too much for me.”  Fingers hard now against my undulating spine, tracking every knot down, down onto my butt, squeezing, kneading. He’s braced against me, his face contorted, ecstatic as I drive into him over and over.  "Oh YEAH, Danny, yeah.  R-right THERE.  Go-d. Wilful – “

I capture his tongue, seduce it with my own.  Bite down.

Jack slams up so hard he lifts us both arching from the bed and comes for me, shatters for me, heat exploding out of him, burning my yielding, yearning flesh.  Beloved face contorted, delirious, stripped bare, pared down to the extremity of intent, focused passion pulsing out of him, of love, of power and strength bridled; not gentle, but gentled.

By me.

For me.

Mine.

I see him.  I see him clear.  My pleasure in him is numbing every sense but touch, peaking now to pain as my heart stutters; pleasure intense, blinding, profound, rapturous, freeing, finally, FREEING.

“JAAACK!”

 

* * *

I'm sitting astride Jack.  My Jack, boneless, content, and open to me under my gently massaging hands.  Smiling a gigawatt smile.  Lazily caressing my thighs and smug enough to make my teeth ache.

"Outta the blue you don't mind watching the game?  Cool!" Jack gloats.

"Why watch when we can play?" I invite softly.  "Teach me?"

"You betcha," Jack says casually.  "Ferretti has this team - we could - "

"No, Jack," I softly tease and moisten my lips.  Watch his eyes darken and focus intently.  "One on one."

Oh, yes.  YES.

"You and me?"

Kissing sticks, half-naked, sweating, straining every nerve and sinew.  Harsh.  Visceral.  Erotic.

"Me in you," I breathe.

"If you can take me," Jack drawls, silky challenge shivering down my spine.

"I want you far more than you need to beat me," I warn with calm certainty.

"Bring it on," Jack dares me, eyes sultry, inviting.

I've pleased him.  He knows I want him too, and it pleases him greatly.  I've dreamed of him gentle, and now I've known him raging, ecstatic.  I want to know him lost in the moment, open to me and only me.

"Hell, I've tried interesting.  I'm up for RAVISHING," he leers, smirking.  Laughing as I light up and pounce on him, incredulous, joyful; kissing him wildly.  Chuckling as he yanks me flat and drapes a heavy, holding leg over my butt.  "No wonder you were so ticked off after the game."

I blush a little.  He's no idea how close I came to just running out there and TAKING him.

Jack's arms tighten and draw me down to his chest.  I settle with Jack's heartbeat steady beneath my cheek, his chin resting on my hair, his fingers wandering up and making themselves busy, tangling in the rumpled strands.

"Mmm," I sigh, drowsy and content.  Safe.

"You up to talking about it?" he murmurs.  "Just asking, you know?"

"You don't talk."  That almost makes sense.

"I'll try," he promises gravely.

His word on it, so I guess I'm obligated to try too.

"He knew all about us.  Used it to keep me off-balance. I wanted to ask for you, but it would have been for me, you know?  It was about the mission. Deep down I knew that; at least, I know that now, but he tied me in knots over the why until I was sure it was wrong.  I was fantasising about you, about making love.  I wanted the man so much I lost sight of the colonel.  Does that make sense?"

Jack gently kneads the nape of my neck.  "Oh, yeah.  I got a little lost myself in all this."

"What do you want me to tell you, Jack?  What is it you need to know?" I ask anxiously.  Wonderful to be basking in all his warmth and caring, but this sharing of things I'd keep to myself is difficult.  Things that hurt me, now I'm aware as never before they hurt Jack too.

Jack tilts my face up and kisses me.  "Maybe it's something I need to say, Daniel.  He used me against you.  Tortured you with my name in your ears.  I've done some damned distasteful things, Daniel, but if I turned up at your door, you'd done something worse to fetch me.  I have never intentionally hurt an innocent person."

"I know that," I reassure him, caught up in the troubled eyes.  "You're a GOOD person, Jack."

"I'm what you helped me to be," he says wryly.  "And you know what I was when we met.  That wasn't all Charlie and Sara.  Not all my life going to hell.   A lot of that was just me.  You know that.  We share that."

"You were lost," I sigh.  And hurting, and still he opened up to me, started to live again.

"I was a mean spirited, hurtful bastard at war with myself and hating the world for living," Jack contradicts.  "I've hurt people intentionally, Daniel and I am good at it.  Too good."

I can hear what he isn't saying, my own heart hammering a little quicker.  "By necessity, not design.  You don't look for it, you don't enjoy inflicting pain.  If you did, how could I know you and be your friend?  How could I love you?  I am your friend and I do love you, and I'm not mistaken in you.  If you've done these things, you - you were choiceless. I know how much trouble you get into for following your conscience instead of your orders."

"Only since I've known you, Daniel," Jack says ruefully.  "And only because you keep giving me that - whaddya call it?  Shakabuku.  A good, swift kick in the spiritual butt, every damn time you think I'm slacking off.  I used to be the perfect soldier."

I struggle up from an embrace that won't quit and gape at him.

"Thanks," he says softly, thawing a little.  "I needed that."

"I've killed in cold blood, too," I say sternly.

"You've killed snakes, Daniel.  Every single one a time bomb just waiting to go off. For every one of those snakes you killed, you saved a human life.  Don't forget that."

"Every one of those larval Goa'uld was a sentient life form, Jack," I correct. "Technically an infant, and I killed them regardless.  I never forget that."

"How about forgiving?" Jack asks quietly.

"On a good day, I settle for rationalising."

Jack chews it over and lets it go.  For now.  "Why did you want - need - to make love, Daniel? I'll buy the hockey as foreplay line, countin' on it come the play offs, but I'm asking for the truth."  His face tightens.  "It wasn't just because you're in love with me, Daniel, not to need it so bad in the middle of all this."

"I wanted to smell you on my skin. I - I wanted to know it was you."

Jack nods, his eyes harsh.  "He hurt you."

I shrug a little, look away.  "Some."

"The bruising."

"I was too injured for the ultimate humiliation.  Medical care is a little hard to come by out here.  It takes more than a band aid to fix a punctured lung."

Jack draws me back down to him.  "I like you sprawled over me like this, so get used to it.  You fit, just nice."   
"You're just trying to distract me from the fact you've stolen my side of the bed."

"My side."

"Mine.  I sleep on the left."

"So do I."

"Not any more."

"Wanna bet?"

"Wanna sleep alone?"

"My place, my bed, my spot."

"MY place. MY bed, I sleep on the left."

"We're not doing it at your place.  Your place is breakable.  Mine is normal.  I've got a big bed."

"My bed is bigger, and we're not doing it anywhere else."

"We're wandering off the point," Jack says coldly.  "I almost stopped making love because you were shaking like you were coming apart.  If you hadn’t plastered yourself all over me and turned into a heaving, moaning, sex-crazed maniac, that would have been all she wrote."

"Plastered?”  I take in Jack’s shit-eating reminiscent grin and cut my losses.  A little first time enthusiasm is allowable in my opinion, and strangely enough, I don’t recall him trying to fight me off at ANY point.

“Sex to me is bad memories and bad judgement, Jack.  Being hurt."  I cup his face in my hands.  "That was - it was all good, Jack, for the first time in forever. It was all me, giving freely, accepting.  I just got lost for a little while, wondering what would happen to take it away from me.  Take you.  I - I had a lot to let go, and I wasn't expecting it to hit then. 'Stop the orgasm, Jack, I want to get off?' What was I supposed to do but ride it out?"

"One word, one look, I stop. I'll never hurt you, Danny, not ever.  You NEVER ride it out."

"This time, I needed to," I need his understanding.  "I had to, or -"

"Or maybe you never could?"  Jack nuzzles his cheek against mine.  "This time.  Never again, Danny, you understand?  It matters to me.  YOU matter to me.  I don't ever want to think you're giving in to what I want just to please me."

"It'll never happen," I say positively.  "I can't keep my eyes off your ass or my hands off your back or - the hockey - God.  Nearly embarrassed us BOTH, there.  I want you naked and pinned to the bed, talking dirty."

"'Munsell Soil Charts' dirty?" Jack licks his lips.

"Yes," I whisper.

"Lithic debitage kink?" Jack licks my lips.

"GOD yes."

"Synchronic?  Diachronic?  Horizontal digging?  Vertical digging?  Postholes?  Topography?  Stratigraphy?" Jack whispers huskily.  "Cuneiform?  Linear B?"

"All of it!"

"Pin away, kid.  Just gettin' warmed up.  Te amo, Daniel Jackson."

"And I love you, Jack O'Neill."

 

* * *

JACK

How can I convincingly throw a little one on one hockey game so my rookie opponent can - er - take me on one on one? I just beat the crap out of the best the Imanish have to offer.  What the hell was I thinking?  If I'd been thinking hockey turned Daniel on as quick as the archaeology smut I would have laid off of Dr Dig and let Ty kick my ass all over the field.  Never gonna be able to throw the game convincingly, and Daniel does have his pride, although I sure as hell don't.  'Beginners luck' won't work forever.

Aah, what the hell.  Got no shame, not when it comes to getting some.  I'll just play half-naked and ‘throw’ my knee when Daniel gets excited.  He can start out massaging my knee, which gets me damned excited too, then work on up to the good stuff.

I shift a little.  Numb butt.  Danny is an underweight dead weight sprawled all over me, sweetly asleep.  Think it's the old ticker, lulling him.  Sleeping a lot better now than he did last night, or yesterday, thank God.   Being whacked out from the miracle juice is not the same as real rest.  Which he's getting now, thanks to yours truly.

I still can't believe the secret is out before we've - had - actually done anything, though we’re up and running now, BOY are we, well oiled sex machine - and Janet's reaction was about the last thing on Earth I would have predicted.  I never realised I was a golden medical opportunity.  Janet is fully expecting - and in fact demanding - that Daniel is the recipient of a shit load of enthusiastic and committed TLC.  No more of that 'I'm fine' crap.  I’m signed up for ‘supportive’ listening, since we've established he will in fact confide in me.   There’s an alarming possibility I may have to do some even more supportive talking, but weighed against what Janet could do to me in my next physical, Danny better be ready to sit on my lap and spill.

Covert feeding up.  Janet was right.  He's lost weight.  Deceptively slender is hovering at the edge of obviously thin.  Still altogether delicious, but I like him feisty, not fragile. Janet expects steady weight gain or by God I'll answer for it.  I've got a chart.  God knows how I'm gonna get him on the scales without him realising he's under vicarious medical supervision.  He's already suspicious because every time he opens his mouth for more than five minutes I wind up feeding him.  The kissing feint will only work for so long.

I'm unable to make any promises re lots of rest, but I think I can wear him out fairly creatively.  I'm not even touching the instructions re aerobic exercise, not after Janet segued into a pithy, pointed lecture on the - er - feel-good factor and how to accomplish 'relations' safely and - too much information.  Way too much.  Delivered with punchy panache and palpable malice aforethought.

Daniel shattering into a million pieces and pulling himself back together before pouncing on me and throwing himself heart and soul into accomplishing the fucking incredible factor was not covered.  With or without the lame-ass pun.  Gave me another fright and got himself over it, just like always.

I bury my face in Daniel's hair and inhale deeply.  Mmm.  Daniel smells good.  He FEELS great.  Deliciously smooth and firm and yielding and wilful and – he needs his rest.  Got the Arash looming up at us soon enough and knowing this stubborn little bastard I’ve fallen in love with, he won’t make it any easier on us than he will on himself.

I can barely get my head around the fact you can have a trial with no lawyers, no jury as such, and the defendant is also the judge.  Ty asked me straight out how anyone else could BE your judge.  Only you know how and why you did something, and how wrong it was for you to do it.  Ty showed me some of the archive footage of one of these trials, knew I HAD to see what was coming at Danny, had to know so I could protect him, get him safely through it.  The need for Truth is so strong in these people a murderer face up to her own crime and choose to pay for it with her life.  Saw the sorrowing Imanish bow to her wishes, respecting her right to choose and end her own suffering, seeing her as an individual to the last.  She took her own life, but she died forgiven, as much at peace as she would allow herself to be, I guess.  Totally alien to me, mind-blowing compared to the self-serving litigious low-lifes I share a planet with.

I got some idea what’s going on now.  Daniel has to be shown he’s not to blame for this because he simply can’t see it.  God and I know he isn’t the martyr type, but cold, calculating murder is beyond his comprehension, and his own perceived culpability is crushing him right now.  There will be questions and he’ll have to face them alone, and he’s going to hate it because I’ll be the one doing most of the asking.  Ty, Aethra and Eda will be there too, but I’m carrying the ball for this.  The Arash is a dialogue, listening as important as speaking.  We have to get Daniel to listen to what he knows in his heart is the truth if he can get past the shock and betrayal he’s choking down so hard it hurts me to see it, the rage he won’t acknowledge, the fear and the guilt he’s hiding behind ‘I’m fine’.  They all think I’m the best one to get him through this, though they’ll help all they can.

He’s gonna drop on the spot when he realises Erigone’s boys will be there, and Keril’s family.  None of them blaming him.  Grieving, sure, raging against Simpson, demanding the Truth.  Daniel will be looking to them for blame and he won’t get it.

Can’t bear to think of him struggling through this on his own, under everyone’s eyes.  Gotta trust him.  He’s a bright guy, nobody brighter.  He’ll see we’re only interested in the Truth, in helping him see the Truth.  Gotta trust him to LET us help him.  He can’t shut ME out, so I’m heading up the cavalry.

The lovemaking was a gift, something I wouldn’t have dreamed of initiating, not with him suffering this way.  He’s brave, always has been, shoulders grief and never falters, always gives others his all and himself nothing.  He got lost for a while in there, but he found himself and brought himself free and clear of it.  Climbed into my lap like he owned it, owned me.  The God’s honest truth of it?  He does.  He bit my tongue and I came so hard, felt like the top of my head came clean off.  A little wriggling and nibbling and I came all over him.   I haven’t been so humiliated by my own body since I was fourteen and the less said about Mary Margaret Mahon the better.  She’s nothing to Danny.  I’m forty-five now, and Danny still only had to bite my tongue.  I’ll die before I admit the friction was probably overkill.

Maybe we lanced that wound, buried Simpson’s insinuations and manipulations for good.  Started in on cleaning out the others too, putting them in their place.  He’ll never forget he was raped and coerced, but I hope finally the memories are losing their power to hurt.  Not his fault, not his responsibility, not his guilt, and for sure and certain NOT his shame.

Why is it so damned hard to make him see that?

“Ashavan?  Jack?”

Am I completely embarrassed at being caught naked and in bed with my VERY male lover?  Am I hell.

“Come on in, Ty,” I call, regretting that Daniel is going to have to give up on his nap.  I was enjoying myself.

Ty slips in through the door, eyes us both stirring under the tumbled covers, chokes down a laugh and turns around long enough to wrestle a tray away from – crap, from Eda!  She puts up an indignantly hissed fight, but he’s bigger and shuts the door gently but firmly in her outraged face.  Maybe I don’t speak the lingo but I get the gist.  If he were a few years younger she’d be putting him over her knee for impudence, king or not.

“Baga tea,” Ty says cheerfully.

Daniel sighs into my shoulder as unwelcome reality intrudes, then reluctantly peels himself off me, rolling over to sit up beside me.  He smiles wearily at Ty as he punches the pillows back to comfort and finally settles with his knees hugged to his chest.

“We’d like to get up.  Do you mind?” I nod to Ty, making himself useful with tea and snacks.

“I do not mind,” he grins.

“Naked, here.”

“That is why I do not mind.”

Daniel chuckles.

“We of the Imanish appreciate beauty in all its forms, Jack, even yours,” Ty says sincerely.

A distinct snigger from Daniel.

I shoot him a ‘help me out here’ look as Ty sinks down into a chair, sipping his tea and eyeing us both appreciatively.

“It’s not the custom on our world for one man to admire the naked form of another,” Daniel offers mildly.

“Unless they’re doing the wild thing,” I suggest helpfully. “Which me ‘n you AREN’T, so get with the program, Ty, and get outta here so we can get up.”

Ty takes his time selecting a smoking hot pastry that smells good from all the way over here and bites into it with relish.

“I regret I do not wish to do this ‘wild thing’ with you, Jack,” Ty smiles sweetly.

“You don’t?”  Why not?

Daniel groans.  “You HAD to say that?  Now he’s thinking why not?  What’s wrong – “

\- with me?

“ – with me?”

“I wasn’t thinking anything of the kind,” I snap.  I’m getting –

“He thinks he’s getting fat.”

\- fat.

“Hey!  Knock it off!”

Ty gives me a look of honest puzzlement.  “Jack’s form is most pleasing.  He does not see the Truth of this?”

“Oh, yes,” Daniel says bitterly.  “His ego is LESS pleasing, however, and wants you to reassure him and coax him and tell him it’s all in his mind, no way, he’s gorgeous, and so on and so on, ad infinitum.  I will NOT stoop to his level.  I won’t pander.”

“Gorgeous?”

“’Gorgeous’?  This is your word for most pleasing, Daniel?”

Daniel blushes to the roots of his hair and a fair way down his chest.

“Ah.  It is seen,” Ty chuckles.  “Though I do not think your admiration for Jack’s form comes near to the admiration he feels for yours.”

Hands up on that one.  Danny is not even close.  I’m still at the delirious, gloating, kicking myself to check he’s real stage.  I also gotta snatch a moment with Ty, let him know it is beyond not cool to draw the room’s attention to a guy’s unruly and relentlessly one-track-mind blood supply.  Think I got a hot date with the glacier melt setting on the bathwater.  Not that it helped last time.  I glance at Daniel.  Didn’t help at all.

“Come, you must eat, both of you.  I will leave you alone, if it is your wish,” Ty says softly.  “You are called to Arash, after, and we will walk side by side to the Dar-e Mihr.”

Daniel pales.  Yeah.  Reality bites, all right.  I nod and Ty rises gracefully to his feet.

“As you wish.  I will return for you soon.  Fear not, Daniel,” he says softly as he strides over to the door, still got the pastry I see.  “You need only speak True and all WILL be well.”  He nods tightly and slips out the door.

I jump out of bed and start scooping up scattered clothes.  “Up and out, Daniel.  You’re going nowhere until you’ve eaten.”

“I’m not hungry,” Daniel says flatly as he stalks over to the bathroom and closes the door.  I wait until I hear water splashing and dive into my uniform, strenuously quelling Mister Happy, still totally focused on a naked Daniel in the immediate vicinity.  I have got to get a grip on this.  No pun.

A long gulp of weird herbal tasting shit doesn’t help.  I got the exact same problem I had before and now I got this tea to contend with.  I console myself with some hot meat and what looks like, and after a cautious nibble, actually is cheese.  Add some fresh baked bread and some of the greens and I got myself a tolerable cheeseburger going.  And after too few bites, gone.

Daniel emerges all ruffled and damp, looking ludicrously beautiful and achingly vulnerable.  He dresses jerkily, in silence, and I let him be as I pick out the most likely looking pastry.

“Tastes like chicken.”

Old joke, gets a small smile as Daniel pads towards me.  Now, I have to weigh up a few things here.  Dr Daniel Jackson, genius and most adult person I know.  Mister Happy, sullenly begging for any kind of contact with Dr Jackson.  Daniel’s dignity and expressed dislike of sitting on my lap.  Me liking Daniel on my lap.  Sorry, kid.  I like the left side of the bed, and that, like this, is non-negotiable.  Sunday morning in the bookshop of your choice, first chance we get.  I wait until he’s in reach and yank him down.  To my alarm, he doesn’t so much as whimper a half-hearted protest.  I forget about the tea and hug him close.  A cold hand covers mine as Daniel leans in and rests his head on my shoulder.

“Afraid?” I ask gently, carding my fingers through his hair.

“Remembering.”

I continue to pet and soothe and warm him, reach for a bowl of the tea and make him sip it.  He must be completely unnerved.  He had no idea I could get so sappy so fast.

“It happened so fast,“ Daniel unconsciously echoes me.  “All of it, like some nightmare fairground ride I couldn’t stop, couldn’t get off.  One minute we were talking and the next he was smashing my face in.”

I cringe at the almost casual way he says that.

“Daniel, sometimes I see it coming, and even knowing, I can’t stop it.”

“It hurts.”

“I know, kid, I know,” I sigh, tilting his face to kiss him.

Serious eyes gaze back at me.  “It hurts me when YOU hurt.  When you’ve done all you can, and more, and it’s not enough, and one of us gets hurt, or caught, or – or killed.  I see it in your eyes, Jack.  Like you think you’re not enough, you didn’t do enough, you got it wrong.  You carry our weight, and that’s what the colonel is about.  What is it you have to balance?  The welfare of the men against mission accomplishment?  Easy words, and not an easy thing at all for a man who takes his duty seriously and has to weigh that against loving us.  Loving all of us.  I see that, Jack, and it hurts because it’s the best and the worst of you.  You’ve kept me safe, kept me clear.  But now I’ve seen, and now I know, a little, what it’s like for you.”

Kinda hard to come up with a single word to say when I’ve got this hot and cold shiver on my skin and an odd weight in my chest and –

“You’re welcome,” Daniel says softly, smiling at last.

I’m smiling a little too as he gets up and eyes the tray uncertainly.  “I recommend the cheeseburger.”  I make up two sandwiches while I’m at it and keep him company.  I’m proud of myself for letting him sit in the chair next to mine, and settling for a little friendly rubbing from time to time.

“I’m not sitting anywhere near you in briefings, Jack,” Daniel says pleasantly as I pass him the plate of pastries.  “You’ve got this uncontrollable thing for my thighs.”

This is true so I plead the fifth and keep my yap shut for at least thirty seconds or so.  “Promise me something, Daniel?”

“Anything,” he says promptly.  “Except sitting near you in briefings.”

“What did I tell you about volunteering?” I scowl.  “And I’ll keep my hands on the table.”

“I don’t know what pearls of wisdom you chose to share with me.  I usually tune out your rants,” Daniel murmurs dulcetly. “After the first dozen times or so.  And you won’t have your hands on the table because they’ll be feeling me up, particularly my thighs.”

“The base is off-limits,” I insist.

“That’s what you say, and right now, that’s what you think you mean, but the first time you get horny, you’ll be chasing me around my office, counting on the fact I won’t see you coming,” Daniel says tartly.

“I guarantee you’ll see me coming,” I drawl, sniggering when he blushes.  GOOD plan.  He’s got the cot and everything and if he WILL be so distractingly sexy, I can’t be blamed for – crap, fire down below.  Again.  “Can we stick to the point?  I want you to promise me you’ll be as fair about yourself as you are about me, okay?”

“Fair?” Daniel asks, clearly taken aback.

“Fair.  Just try, okay?  It’s important to me, Danny.  I don’t want this hurting you any more than it has.”

“I – I’ll try.  For you, of course I’ll try,” Daniel finds his tea needs all of his attention.  Or maybe it’s his feet.

He doesn’t know what the hell I’m talking about.  He NEVER cuts himself any slack and that’s what has the rest of us mother-henning him to death.  If he looked out for number one a little better, we wouldn’t have to do it for him.

A sudden rap on the door brings Ty.  “Ashavan?  Jack?  You are called to Arash.”

We’re outta time.

“I’m with you,” I say reassuringly as we head on out in Ty’s wake.

“I know that,” Daniel smiles.  Wavering, but still a smile.

“We are all as one with you, Ashavan,” Ty affirms gravely as he leads us to the transport platform.  The only luxury he’s got is this, and it’s only to cut down on his commute time.

We do that oddly disappointing ‘blink of an eye and you’re somewhere else’ thing.  Sucked all the magic right outta Star Trek for me, I have to say, even with Uhura’s miniskirt taken into consideration.  Daniel would’ve have lasted all of two seconds near Captain Kirk.  One swift dose of The Eyes and he’d have been plastered all over Daniel’s starboard bow, phaser set to -

“What are you thinking?” Daniel asks outta the blue as we follow Ty through crowds of friendly people obviously delighted to see him and openly curious about us, across a vast, open square towards a towering –

“Hey!  You guys build ANYTHING that doesn’t smack the average low-life visitor upside the head?  We can’t have some homey little temple, too easy.  No, we gotta get Durham Cathedral with extra fries and large Coke?”

Daniel shoots me a startled, distinctly admiring look.

“Air Force?  Pilot?  We do occasionally FLY, y’know.  You can spit from one end of the damn country to the other but that part of it has cold beer, warm women, a sense of humour warped in all the right places and – “

“One of the most beautiful and impressive Gothic Cathedrals in the world,” Daniel smiles at me warmly.

“You’ve been there?”  Like this is a surprise.  And I bet he didn’t sample the beer or the women.  I went in with a girl.  Lost her in there somewhere, came out with a different girl.  Didn’t seem to matter to either of us.

“Durham University has an excellent Archaeology Department.  I got to visit for a symposium and stay in Durham Castle for a few days, and as for the cathedral, you can’t  - you really can’t - describe the atmosphere to anyone who hasn’t been there,” Daniel says dreamily.

And I for one hope he’s not about to try.  Then I see that little flash of disappointment in his eyes and cave.  If it takes his mind off what’s looming up at us literally and figuratively.  I try out a grin, hope it’s convincing.  “Best I can describe, it was a people place, y’know?”

“I know,” Daniel sidles a little closer.  Looks a little warmer.  “I felt it too.  There was a peace, a stillness that permeated the stone.  It weighted the air without being oppressive, you know?  That connection with the past, with all who had gone before,  with ordinary folk like us.  As if the people who worked and worshipped in that cathedral never lost sight of what was really important, and their belief was real and passionate and – and honest.  They kept it about them and their covenant with God, and not about the Church or doctrine.  That’s what I felt.”

Er - what I said.  A people place.  I nod firmly and am rewarded by a shy smile.  Handled that one beautifully.  He doesn’t even know I was mostly chasing skirt and I only got the edges of all that stuff he got.  I did get it though, a little, and that has to count?  Right?

“You see and Speak True, Ashavan,” Ty approves.  “And so you will not fear the Arash, no?”

“No,” Daniel agrees clearly, no hesitation, eyes clear as he focuses on the façade of the temple.

Yeahsureyoubetcha, Dannyboy.

Looking at the temple up close, dunno what it is that made me flash back to one of the most miserable postings in my career.  The South was too small, too pretty, too crowded and too full of people like me.  Low flying exercises took me North, and that was more like it.  Wild place, wild people who cut the crap and make you welcome.  Especially those warm women.  May just be that this is a people place too.  I’m definitely coming back out with the guy I’m taking in, though.  No question about that.

“It’s beautiful, Ty.  Such strong, clean lines.  Very simple and very impressive.  I could ask for such restraint in a lot of basilica on Earth,” Daniel praises.

“I thought the graven images were what got you archaeologists hot?” I tease.

“Only in their proper place.  I like the elegance of stone and wood, natural materials rendered as close to their original state as possible.  I’ve never been an admirer of the ornate.  It’s self-indulgent.”

Self-indulgence isn’t Daniel’s thing at all.  His strength is self-denial.

We trot up some broad, shallow steps to the huge, honkin’ wooden door that stands open and I get to lay eyes on the mosaics that caught Danny in the first place.

Wow.

“Whoa!  Get back here!”  Dammit.  Daniel could be going to the gallows and this stuff could get his meter running.

Ty catches my arm.  “There is a little time yet.  Aethra thought the Ashavan might be soothed by sight of what he admires so deeply.”

Watching him float over the floor and sprawl gracefully over what seems to be a particularly seductive section of tile, I don’t think soothed is quite the right word.  The last time I saw that particular glow I was coming all over him.  He’s cheating on me.  Right now.  With this floor.  I like planes but I don’t slobber all over them right in front of him.

“You have not spoken of what is to come?”

Apart from Daniel, if I don’t get him up off of that floor?

"We agreed I wouldn’t tell him, but if I thought it would help him, I’d have told him regardless,“ I admit honestly enough, Ty taking it fairly well.  “Shall we?”  Don’t want Daniel getting TOO excited, here.  Not when I’m fully dressed and fifteen yards away.

We saunter up behind him and try to see what he sees.  Even Ty looks a little puzzled.

“Bahman was one of the earliest of our Ardashirs.  He it was who helped our people start the path to Asha.”

“I recognised him!  This is where Keril stood.  He stood right here and asked – “ Daniel falters.  “There was a girl.  He asked – “

I can guess what the poor kid asked.  Daniel climbs slowly to his feet.  Yeah, he’s remembering all right.  Ton of bricks time.  Ty and I slip to either side of him without a word spoken and walk with him to the doors of the inner chamber, the Sanctum, each of us reaching out to push open one door as Daniel walks straight in, head held high.

I feel like turning on my heel.  Standing room only.  We’ve packed the place out.  It’s like an amphi-whatsit.  Row upon row of stone ledges, rising from ground level to precipitous, way up in the Gods.  Probably called that ‘cause one false step up there and you’ll be joining them, PDQ.  For all the people, I’m curious to find not so much as a breath of the mob.  No hostility of any kind, just a warm, waiting silence.

My eyes falls on Aethra and Eda, sitting cross-legged on the floor, smiling.  Ty heads confidently over to them and sits too.  I can’t picture Judge Judy gettin’ down with the home boys in her courtroom.  Daniel looks wary but he sits too, and then I sit slightly across from him, closing a very small circle in the middle of all these waiting people.  Cetus and Pirro, Erigone’s boys, are in my line of sight but not Daniel’s, Keril’s family all around them and in a couple of tiers behind too.  The boys look devastated.  Pale, red eyed, eerily calm and totally focused on Daniel.

I’m starting to feel a little sick, hoping Daniel is going to see that me doing the talking is mostly a good thing, that we’re only here to help him.  And praying that he’ll let us help him.

“As you are not of our people, and this is not your custom, we will not speak in our language, from respect.  There are no rituals, no ceremonies to follow.  All we ask is the Speaking of Truth.  It is all you must ask or expect of yourself, Ashavan,” Ty explains gently, his eyes very kind.  “May we begin?”

“Yes,” Daniel says at once.  He’s too pale for my liking, and I realise abruptly that whatever was happening to him he’d be looking around.  He’d see.  That red hair is very distinctive.  He recognised Ty and he recognises the boys too.  Of course.

Well.  I’m outta time too.  On with the show.

“Daniel?  Were you suspicious of Simpson’s intentions?” I ask steadily.

“No,” Daniel jumps a little, turning to face me, surprised.  “I – no.”

“You don’t seem certain.”

“It is well, dear one,” Eda soothes.  “Be not afraid, Speak what is in your heart.”

“I didn’t like him,” Daniel admits in a rush.  “I wasn’t – I couldn’t be fair to him.  I was trying too hard, trying harder because it took such an effort from me to do it.”

“Are you ashamed of that, dear one?” Eda asks.

“Yes.”

“Even now?  With what you know now?” Fuck the rules, here.  I hitch closer and put my hand on his shoulder.  “Why, kid?”

Only me, look at me, not at them, not a trap.

Daniel turns to look at me, really look, eyes bright with suppressed emotion.  “I w-wanted you.”

Aethra nods judiciously, an approving ripple running through the crowd.

“It is seen!” A voice calls.  Cetus, I think.

Daniel’s face flames and he hangs his head, chest heaving.

The ripple becomes concerned.

“Just give him a minute.” I pet and soothe his neck as he fights it down.  “He’s remembering.”


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slash: Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Category: Action/Adventure. First Time. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.  
> Season/Spoilers: Season 4. Follows events in The Curse and Double Jeopardy.  
> Synopsis: Daniel and Jack learn - and teach - difficult lessons in honesty and faithfulness.  
> Warnings: Minor character death. Violence. Language. Intense situations.

DANIEL

Remembering?  I’ll never forget.  Never.  Every moment I don’t fill with Jack fills me with them.  Faces, dead and dying.  Dying over and over, right in front of me.

The families, here!  Jack knew, he knew and he didn’t tell me.  I want to turn my head and bury myself in his shoulder and chase all these living faces away.  Too many faces, blurring with the dead and the dying.

“Come over here,” Jack calls suddenly.

Oh, he can’t mean – but he does – he DOES.  I can’t do this, Jack.  It's too much.  If they come to me here I have to face them.  Have to see the grief I helped to put there.  I know grief; I know it still.  I don’t want to see the sorrow I’ve forced onto others.

“I am Cetus,” a soft voice, a boy sitting at my left, “and this is Pirro, my brother, who sits between Aethra and dear Eda.”

“It is well with you?” Pirro asks gently.

It is not.

I have to face them, have to look up, see.  Know.  I look from one to the other, gaze skittering, flinching away.  Enough to know they have her eyes.  Erigone’s sherry-warm eyes.

“Our sorrow for your loss, Ashavan,” Cetus says softly.

Obscenely.  They shouldn’t be trying to comfort ME.

“Don’t!” I choke, Jack’s hand tightening.  He’s hurting for me, wanting to protect me from this thing he’s brought down on me.  I take a deep breath, look up, hold their gaze this time.  “MY sorrow for YOUR loss.”

“Is it not then OUR loss, and is it not possible that we may each share in the loss?” Ty asks me.

I nod, reluctantly, admitting the truth of that.  I do share this grief, this sense of loss.

“What was wrong with wanting me?” Jack asks.

I don’t understand why I have to answer to Jack.  I assumed – I just assumed he’d be here for me, with me.  At my back.  He’s here at my side, certainly, but he’s asking, asking.

“It was personal.”

“You love this Jack.  It is seen,” Pirro says shyly, nodding to Jack.  “What then is the crime of wanting your Jack near?”

“I – I – “ It was just WRONG. It was just for me.  I didn’t KNOW I wanted the colonel as much as I wanted Jack, not until – I didn’t know.

“Simpson used me against you.  Is that why you thought it was wrong, Daniel?”  Jack asks gently.

When I look at him, his eyes are tender and so very understanding.  It's easier to look at Jack, to talk with him.  “He seemed to know we were together, and he kept me off-balance with it, stopped me from questioning him too closely with sly comments that were confusing.  I just never knew how to take a word he said.  Couldn’t tell what he meant and what he didn’t.”

“Nor I,” Aethra snaps, bitterly.  “He told the Truth but he did not KNOW it.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“It’s easier to swallow a half-truth than an outright lie,” Jack says coldly.  “We’re trained to do it.”

“Casual comments turned out to have the most significance.  The mention of Aris Boch was as important as Simpson’s talk of the weapons, though it threw me at the time, Jack.  I gave Simpson everything he needed to know about potential markets and Boch as a broker.”

“You know that now, but at the time?”

“Oh, no, not at the time,”  I’m on trial.  Would it break custom if I was to hold Jack’s hand?  It doesn’t seem to be against Jack’s custom, not from the strength of his grip.  It’s just easier to talk this way.  I can talk to Jack.  “He insisted I called him by his first name, I know that seems ridiculous, but it floored me.  I was so conscious of offending him I didn’t pay the proper attention.  Everything he said at the time was explicable for someone new to the SGC and wanting as much information as possible.  Wanting to know what might be coming at him.  He was critical of you and SG-1, and that made me angry.  We know what problems we face, what mistakes we’ve made, and I didn’t need Simpson pointing them out.  He even got me to ask for access to the computer system,”  I sigh.  “To help with the mission, I thought.”

“Simpson pushed the Ashavan from this time,” Aethra confirms.  “His intent was for the weapons, but we thought his mind was set to trade and this we would refuse.”

“No harm, no foul,” Jack growls.  “You agreed to the mining concession to get Simpson out of there, right?”

“It was so,” Aethra confirms.  “I thought to lift this burden from the Ashavan and get Simpson gone.”

“I told him,” I still feel sick at the thought.  Who that admission cost me.  “I told Simpson that Erigone had given me direct access to the system.  I was so surprised there was no security, and I didn’t think it mattered, not when only the Imanish and I had access.  The language was security enough.  I even told him I’d looked at those weapon specs.”

“Why?” Jack asks searchingly.  “Why would you tell him that?”

“I wanted him to know there was no way we could ever manufacture the weapons.  The knowledge he was pushing me to find was useless to us.  The alloys were too sophisticated for our level of metallurgical technology.”

“Why were you so concerned?”

“I didn’t want Simpson pushing me to ask for the weapon specs.  I didn’t want to offend Aethra, didn’t want to give up the Imanish,” I whisper.  I was enjoying myself.  It seems so petty, so small, weighed against all the lives lost.

“I fail to see the crime in that,” Jack says flatly.  “Part of your job is to make first contact and help us to secure allies.  There’s nobody better at the meet ’n’ greet stuff, and I rely on your judgement every day we’re in the field, even if I’m slightly reluctant – “ Jack catches Aethra’s kindling eye.  “Even if I never, ever tell you so.”  He nudges me.  “Telling you now, in front of everyone, so don’t give me a hard time over it, okay?” he whispers in my ear.

Well, if I survive this, we’ll see.  We’ll just have to see.

“So you considered Simpson was jeopardising our relationship with the Imanish and did what you could to contain him without making one almighty stink back at base and having him replaced by your boyfriend.”

“You make it sound so – so – “

“Simple?” Jack sighs.  “It is, kid.  It is.  And don’t tell me it never crossed your mind Simpson wouldn’t head straight into the general’s office, spilling his ethical ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ guts.”  Jack eyes my blush with cynical satisfaction.  “So we gotta add concern for the feelings – and welfare – of the man you love to your list of so–called crimes.”

“It is seen, and it is well,” Ty does a remarkable impression of Teal’c, right down to the sonorous intonation.

“So for all these reasons, you sucked it up.  Made the most of a bad situation, and tried your level best to do your job and keep everyone balanced and reasonably happy.”

“Yes.  Um – yes.” I feel slightly bewildered, like control of my own thoughts and words is slipping away from me.  It seemed so clear when we came in here, and now nothing is clear.  It’s not even that Jack is trying to trick me, in fact he’s going out of his way to help.  He knows me so well, he’s just slipping right through my defences.  Oh!  “You – you – “ I sputter, outraged.

“For the record, our Ashavan just got a clue,” Jack says smugly.  “And now he can tell us what went wrong.”

Everything.

“This isn’t over,” I warn.

“I’d be disappointed if it was, Daniel,” Jack says gravely, tightening his grip on my hand.  “What went wrong, huh?  For the record.”

“It was wrong from the start.  Simpson could never return to Earth.  He was desperate for a way off-world, because he was sure he would be killed if he returned.”  I’m pilloried by the shock on the Imanish faces.

“Is this so?” Aethra gasps.

“Afraid so,” Jack admits steadily.  “We’re not always a pretty people to be around.  Not everyone is like Daniel.”

“Nor like you, Jack,” Pirro says in that soft, shy voice of his, that reminds me so much of Erigone.  “It is seen.”

Jack looks like he wants to argue the point but an approving murmur from the crowd shuts him up and brings a flush to his cheeks.

“He planned to take me from the moment he heard I was coming.  I had the language skills, the off-world experience, the knowledge of other cultures, and the contacts.  There was no chance he would have left me behind.”

//Everyone is expendable except you.//

“No chance at all,” I whisper.

“For the record,” Jack snarls, “the SGC just handed Daniel over.  Simpson was investigated and cleared for service, so this contract must have been officially sanctioned at a pretty high level.  Records would have to be falsified to cover gaps in his service history.  We didn’t have a clue he was a predator, and he lied to us every step of the way in his reports.  He was never coming back, there was no way he could cover that up back on base, and he could lie to  Hammond and the me with impunity.  Tell us all whatever he needed to in order to accomplish his personal agenda, keep us from knowing what was really going on.”

“Nor did WE know he was such a one,” Aethra agrees.

“It only had to be about me,” I say drearily.  “Nobody else.  Just me.”

“But there was not just you, Ashavan,” Cetus says abruptly.  “You are not alone.  You were not alone.  There were those of your SG-11, there was – was our Mother, there was Keril, and the others.  Aethra and Eda, and all whose lives you touched.  Most of all there was your Jack.  It could never have been only about YOU, for that would lessen all of US.  Can you not see the Truth of that?”

“It’s hard,” I admit, reluctantly.  They died for me.  My presence was the catalyst, and that is the truth I see.

“The Truth may hurt more than a lie, Ashavan, but still, better for the heart and soul to know that Truth than believe a lie and be the less for it,” Ty interjects.

“Everyone was expendable except me.  He kept saying that,” I have to make them understand.  Have to make them – Jack – SEE.  “But I wouldn’t – I w-wouldn’t do what he wanted.  I wouldn’t download the weapon specs.”

“Why?” Jack demands, harsh for the first time.

“I kept thinking that some world out there would be struggling to build these weapons, that sooner or later the Goa’uld would learn of it, and take them.  They’d destroy that world, and as many others as they could manage and then they’d turn on themselves and whoever was left standing would come after us, the Asgard, the Tollan, the Nox.  I couldn’t be party to that.  I couldn’t.”

“NO!” the crowd roars, making me flinch back from the wall of sound battering into me like a live thing.

“No, Daniel, you couldn’t,” Jack whispers. “And you were right.  It’s happened before, it’s happening right now, and it will keep happening until we stop the snakes for once and for all.”

I’m ashamed to see the tremors running through me, ashamed to have Jack feel them and everyone else to know.  “It seems too easy to hide behind it.”

“It was your duty, love, and there’s nothing easy about that,” Jack sighs.  “I know, remember?  And remember that you promised to be fair to yourself, as fair as you’d be to me?  I’m putting my faith in you, Daniel, trusting you’ll do just that.”

I’m shaken to the core, shaken by that endearment, that word of love, and by his trust.

“You’re not going to let either of us down.  Not you.”  The gentle finger stroking from my palm to wrist is as mesmerising as the serene confidence of Jack’s honey-sweet, gentling voice.  “Bring us the rest of the way, Danny.  Bring us to the truth.”

“'I can hurt you in lots of ways that won’t kill you, Daniel.  Don’t make me hurt you.  Download those specs'.  I said no.”  I talk to Jack and no one else.  “I kept saying no, knowing he could and would do everything he was saying.  He could hurt me in lots of ways that didn’t kill me.  He couldn’t kill me.  Everyone else was expendable.  Not me.  Consequences.  That's what he said to me.  He asked - did I see the Truth of what he told me, and finally I did.  Oh, Jack, I did.  In Erigone and Ramon I saw it clearly.  I said no and he hurt me.  I said no and they died for me.  He warned me.  I said no.  I said no.”

“And if you’d said yes, what then, Danny?  What then?”

“You know.”

“I know,” Jack agrees, freeing my hand and hugging me close.  I reach blindly and he takes my hand again, holds me tightly and strokes his finger soft against me.  “Admit it, Daniel.  You knew and Ramon knew.  I know it’s hard, Danny, but you have to face it.  Come on, now.”

//Do it or I kill him, Daniel.//

“He w-would have killed them anyway.  Not me.  But them.  I was safe in saying no, but they weren't.”

“And you were safe in saying yes, too.”

“But not them.”

//I warned you, Daniel.  Consequences.//

“And whose is the blame for that, Ashavan?” Cetus chokes.  “Is it yours?  It is too easy to say yes and believe that small lie, for the greater Truth hurts so.  There was not one single thing you could have done to save them or yourself.  Is that not so?  Is the blame for that yours?”

“Is it, Danny?”

I don’t want to know it was inevitable.  That there wasn’t one single thing I could have done to prevent it or to change the outcome.  It’s too calculating, too deliberate and too random all at the same time.  I don’t want to be choiceless, I don’t want the vulnerability.  I do not want to be a victim.  Only I can make myself a victim.  He took.  He took from me, I didn’t give.

//If you give it up to him, you’ll give it up to me.//

“Ashavan,” Aethra’s eyes are bright with tears.  “Would you take away our respect of those who died?  Would you have us think the less of their bravery, their sacrifice for the same good purpose you strove so hard for?  Would you have us do that?”

“No!  Not that!  Never that!” I gasp, shaken she would even think that.

“You think they died for you, and that you’re not worth it,” Jack says sadly.

I nod, too choked for words.

“But you would have died for them.  How can your life be worth less than theirs?”

“How can it be worth more, Jack?”

“That is not your judgement to make, Ashavan,” Pirro calls.  “Our Mother felt your life to be equal to hers, else she’d not have given hers.  Harder still, she’d not have tried to take the life of another.  She knew well the cost of what Simpson wanted, did she not?”

(AHRIMAN!  You dare!)

“It was her mistake that got Ramon killed,” Jack snaps.

[Don’t do it, Daniel.]

The harsh words strike like blows.  Wasn’t braced for them.  For that.  Oh, GOD.  Not that.  No.  Not in front of her boys.

“You must Speak, Ashavan,” Cetus commands.

[NO!]

“As long as we refused to download the specs, Simpson had to keep Ramon alive.  He had to have leverage over me.  When Erigone – when she – she thought it was the right thing to do, she thought it would help us,” I wrench free of Jack and look from Cetus to Pirro, pleading with them to believe, to understand.  Forgive her.  “She didn’t know Simpson, what he was capable of.  She couldn’t know Simpson would kill Ramon anyway, any more than Ramon knew he should have been shooting Simpson and not her.  They didn’t know.  They didn’t – they – I – I didn’t know.  I couldn’t stop him.  I tried but I couldn’t.  Tried to get Keril to leave us alone, tried to get Simpson away from Aethra after – after they all died.  I tried and it wasn’t enough.  I did everything and it wasn’t enough.  I wasn’t enough.”

Jack turns me toward him and rests his forehead against mine.  “Is that your fault any more than you tell me it’s mine when I believe I’M not enough?  If it’s your fault Erigone died, then it’s my fault you died.  If you killed Erigone, then I’ve killed you, over and over.”

“No, no, that’s not true.  It’s not.  My choices, Jack, you always let me – “  And what’s true for Jack has to be true for me.  We’re the same.   I see at last what he’s been trying to tell me, what they’ve all been trying to tell me.   “It - it wasn't my fault.  Simpson’s.  We didn’t choose, Jack.  He chose for us.  We all – we did the best we could and it wasn’t enough to stop him.  All of us.  We’re – I’m not to blame for Simpson.  I’m not responsible for his actions, or Erigone’s, or Ramon’s or Keril’s or Aethra’s.  Just mine, and there was not a single thing I could have done to stop this because I didn’t know.  I didn’t know.  And I was hurt and – and - ”

“I know, Danny.  I know.  I’ve been there, remember?”

I remember and I see it weighing him down for a minute, making him look – old – then it’s gone and he’s Jack and he’s happy.  Blazing bright and happy.

“Kriya?” he asks.

“Kriya!” The voices in the circle around us cry.

“KRIYA!” The waiting Imanish batter the walls and raise the roof with their roar.

Jack waits.  “It’s an Exchange, Danny.  A True Exchange.”

“Kriya,” I whisper, surrendering at last to the Truth.

 

* * *

“You are not eating, Daniel,” Aethra whispers softly.

“Still a little raw, Aethra,” I say awkwardly.

“As are we all, dear one,” Eda sighs, stroking my hair for what feels like the thousandth time tonight.  “But you have been asked to break bread with us, and to do so, you must eat some of the bread!”

I pick up a small piece, unenthusiastically.  Eda takes this as permission to load me up with meat and gravy too, counting on the fact I can refuse her nothing.  And Jack, nearby, looking at Ty and still somehow seeing everything I do.  I eye my sandwich of fresh baked bread, warm butter, hot, tender meat and rich gravy.  I’m just beginning to relax and try an exploratory nibble when Jack turns around and winks right at me.

Smug, telepathic, know-it-all bastard.  What the hell have I gotten myself into?  Maybe I should stop kidding myself.  Colonel.  Best friend.  Lover.  And the latest terrifying incarnation, Mother.  Aggravating as only Jack can be in each and every role, and all of them mine.  All mine.  Only mine.  Whoo.  I take a sip of my sherbet.  It’s an ass thing.  My ass.  He gets to watch it, kick it, kiss it and wipe it.  God help me.

Jack and Ty turn toward us and head across to our little corner of the round table.  I think I’m utterly spineless for the big dopey grin that gets away from me when my dear and only love smiles at me.

“Daniel,” Ty smiles, leaning on the table as Jack fights a losing battle with Eda for the seat next to me.  “After much thought, the Imanish have Spoken.  You will have your mining concession, and an envoy of YOUR choice may visit us and share what they know of your world and it’s customs.”

“Damn!  That guy is grimacing over the soup,” Jack shakes his head sadly.

Eda stiffens.  “Where?”

“Right over there.”

Eda follows Jack’s gesture and plunges off into the crowd, horrified beyond belief.

As am I.  That man has had about five bowls.  He’s only mad because there isn’t any left.

“Sucker,” Jack gloats, slipping into Eda’s vacated spot.  “Where was I?  Oh yeah.  Operation Once Upon A Time has a go.  We just gotta wait for the right ambience, you know?” he asks innocently.  “For in the beginning.”

“Ambience?”

“A dark and stormy night,” Jack intones, smirking.

I walked into this.  I fell in love with him.  This is self-inflicted so I’ve got to suck it up and think of the hockey.

“We extend to you our personal invitation to return, Daniel.  To you and to Jack, you are both most welcome,” Ty smiles.

That drives the blood to my cheeks.

“You will come at Midsummer, yes?  Then you will speak for your dead, you and Jack.  It will be our honour.  The boys wish it so.  They will be glad to hear you speak for Erigone.”

“There’s - there is something.  A poem she loved, and had me tell her over and over.  It seems fitting to say it for her now, if they want to hear it.”

Ty spins and faces the party – the wake.  “The Ashavan wishes to Speak for Erigone, to share words that she grew to love.  Will you hear him?”

“SPEAK!” the roar goes up.

Jack nods, quietly, settling back in Eda’s spot as I stand and walk around to the centre of the crowd gathered at the table.  Ty strolls over and sits on the grass in front of Cetus and Pirro, smile as warm and encouraging as Jack’s.

“I had withdrawn in forest, and my song   
Was swallowed up in leaves that blew alway,   
And to the forest edge you came one day   
(This was my dream) and looked and pondered long,   
But did not enter, though the wish was strong:   
You shook your pensive head as who should say,   
'I dare not--too far in his footsteps stray--   
He must seek me would he undo the wrong.'   
Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all   
Behind low boughs the trees let down outside;   
And the sweet pang it cost me not to call   
And tell you that I saw does still abide,   
But 'tis not true that thus I dwelt aloof,   
For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof.”

“Our Father worked among the trees, Ashavan,” Cetus calls, voice thick with memory.  “He was killed thusly.  A fall, and no one by to help him.  Our Mother could not walk among the trees after that, stayed always on the path.  Be glad.  Our certainty it is they are at one, at peace now.  As should you be.  It would be her wish.”

“She rests in the grace of the world and is free.  Her loss troubles her no more, and we here will remember her and know,” Aethra calls fiercely.  “It is Spoken True.  You will come again to us, Ashavan?  You and your Jack?  We will look for you at Midsummer.”

“We’ll be here,” Jack promises as I slip back to his side.

I lean in close.  “You realise that whoever you speak of won’t be forgotten here?  If we tell them about Sha’uri, and my parents – “ I want to ask him about Charlie, but not here.  Maybe - maybe later.  Let him think about it and decide if he can bear to share those memories even with me.  “They’ll live on in this place.  Nothing’s forgotten here, Jack.  Nothing is ever forgotten.”

“They forgive instead,” he sighs, “That’s more than I can do.  Maybe I learned a little about the truth here, too.  Let’s go home, Daniel.  It’s time.  We’ve got people waiting on us.”

How can he do this to me every time?  Every single time I get all misty eyed over another truth revealed, he has to pull a stunt that drives me CRAZY.  He’s IMPOSSIBLE.  Only Jack would bare his soul and feel me up at the same time.  I reach under the table and coldly remove the hand fondling my thigh.

“I will accompany you, dear one,” Aethra says mistily, “and my Eda too.  And the Ardashir.  It is well.”

A chorus of farewells speeds us on our way to the transport platform, our Imanish friends gathered close around us.  I head over to the DHD, dial, and transmit the GDO signal as Jack faithfully promises to bring Ty a Blackhawk’s uniform and a ‘proper’ hockey stick for the rematch.

Eda kisses me on both cheeks and hugs me tenderly, tears starting.  “I miss you already, dear one.”

Jack groans theatrically.

Aethra shakes my hand formally before lifting me up off my feet and kissing me soundly.  I’m distinctly out of breath when she drops me.

“Just tall enough,” she twinkles.  “Wounds will heal with time, and time it is will bring you home to us again.  Be well and Speak True, dear one.”

Ty closes in purposefully.

“Hey!” Jack snarls.  “I noticed you only said you didn’t want to do the wild thing with me.  Daniel’s name never came up that I recall, so keep your damn distance.”

“Our sorrow,” Ty says sympathetically as I sigh.  “You have a heavy burden to bear.”  Ty enfolds me in a bearhug that has Jack fuming volubly as well as visibly. “Know that you are always welcome here, Daniel.  The nature of your people sorely troubles me, but we will risk an Ahriman such as Simpson for one such as you.”

I smile.  “Erigone, Keril, Aethra – all of you saved my life.  This is my thanks to you all.  I think you’ll find these words as True as any I’ve spoken.  ‘He who saves a life, saves the world entire’.”

Ty’s face softens.  “That is a beautiful thought, Daniel, one we would wish to be True.  So many True words you have given us.”

“And deeds,” Aethra says softly.  “Fare thee well, dear one.  Fare thee well, Daniel’s Jack.  Know that we will think of you often, and with kindness.”

They’re still watching and waiting and listening as Jack pulls me purposefully over to the event horizon.

“I’ll miss you,” I call over my shoulder, straining for a last glimpse.  “Get your hand off my ass, Jack.” Jack obediently shifts his grip.  “AND my thigh!”

“Later!” Jack hollers as he shoves me into the wormhole.

 

* * *

JACK

Daniel goes stumbling down the ramp a little ahead of me, giving me the perfect excuse to grab him around the waist and steady him but Janet gets there first.  She’s up the goddamn ramp so quick I think she levitated, George hard on her heels, both of them beaming like loons. Typical Daniel.  He leaves one group hug and stumbles headlong into another and looks just as startled.

I bite back a grin.  Daniel is backing off, visibly alarmed, his innocent pleasure in the warmth of Janet’s welcome evaporating as the bearhug segues into a blatant check it out kinda thing and her face gets that ‘let’s get Physical’ look we all know and dread.  The bad news about the fainting fit is clearly very much on her mind and about to be all over Daniel.

“Welcome home, son,” George says softly, a comforting hand on Daniel’s shoulder.  He’s grey faced with exhaustion and worry, despite the sit-reps.  They knew Daniel was out of danger but we gotta see him with our own eyes to REALLY know.  He’s died on us too often.  “You had us worried there.”

Daniel blushes and hangs his head, overcome as always by the smallest sign people actually care about him.  He also can’t hide the sheen of tears in his eyes, and George’s face softens even more as he bestows a final soothing pat and steps back.

I allow myself to bask complacently in the warm glow of a godawful job well done for just a moment longer, heartlessly ignoring Daniel’s pleading eyes as Janet corners him by the Stargate and makes emphatic Infirmary noises.  I want to be sure about he's okay too, and I want to talk to the general.

“I’ll see you down there,” I call cheerfully as Janet leads Daniel away.  “Give my love to Junior.”  Daniel abruptly remembers Teal’c is down there and picks up the pace a little.

“Hell of a job, Jack,” the general says tautly as we head up to his office.  “Under the circumstances.  One of our own!”   
“I know.  Unforgivable.  If the Imanish weren’t the people they are, they’d be blasting us to kingdom come right now.  It’s down to Daniel that they aren’t.  He’s all the evidence they need that humanity is worth a shot,” I say roughly.  “He negotiated us the sweetest deal we’ll ever have.  Poems for naquadah.  If he was up to feeling anything good right now, he’d feel good about that, but the deal also cost us five human and five Imanish lives, and it almost cost us Daniel.  Twice.”  I close the door and prowl over to lean against the window.  “The Arash was necessary – I see now how right they were – but it was almost too much for him, letting go of the guilt.  He’s tired of being a victim.  It was hard.”  Hard for both of us.

“How is he, Jack?  Really?  Fit for duty?  He’s been through a lot.  I can give him some downtime, if you think it will help.”

I think he’ll go nuts if I leave him behind again.  I know I will.  “I don’t want him put through a debriefing, Sir.  Not right now.  He’s just not up to it so soon after the Arash.  No way do I want him off the team. He needs to be with us, and we’ll need him.  He’s exhausted, but he won’t let us down.  He never does,” I say simply.

“Tomorrow then,” Hammond says positively.  “Jacob Carter will be here at 09:00 hours for the Vorash briefing.  I’ll debrief you and Dr Jackson at 08:00.”

“Thank you, Sir.  I appreciate it,” I say gratefully.  I want him home, in my bed.  Safe.  “For the record, Sir, Dr Fraiser’s performance on this mission was exemplary.  Without her quick thinking and heroism under fire, and her prompt medical assistance, Daniel would be dead.  Daniel’s own conduct went way above and beyond, but then it always does.”

“Duly noted, Colonel.”  George pauses.  “Bad?” he asks tightly, knuckles clenching.

“You saw the medical reports,” I snap.

George raises an eyebrow.  “Dr Fraiser was – upset – when she returned.”

Wept her heart out.  I came close when I saw him tied to that tree.  “Daniel was tortured by an officer of the United States Air Force, an officer sworn to protect Daniel with his life.  Tortured.  The loveless bastard smashed his face in.  Snapped his collarbone and three ribs.  Beat him so badly his spleen was damaged.  Tried to force – to – the only goddamn reason Daniel wasn’t raped out there is that punctured lungs are so fucking inconvenient,” I snarl.  “One of ours. Simpson told Daniel over and over again how good I was at that stuff, told him so often I wasn’t sure he knew which ‘Jack’ had actually hurt him.  All those people were killed in front of him and you’ve no idea what it took for him to admit it wasn’t because of him, and let the guilt go.”

“I know Daniel,” George says quietly, looking down at his clenched hands.  “And you, Jack.”

His eyes lift to mine, steady.  Challenging.  My heart skips a beat.  He knows.  How the HELL does he know?  Janet would NEVER betray a confidence, and she gave me her word so I’d be SURE of that.

“I’d like you to take Dr Jackson home tonight, and stay with him, Colonel.  After an experience like that even a man of his strength of character will need someone close, someone who understands what he’s been through.”

The unexpected kindness of it sends the blood rushing to my face.  “I’ll do what I can, Sir,” I say weakly.  Neither of us can say anymore, not without crossing a line we won’t be able to go back on, but I’m smart enough to read tacit acceptance, and to see a measure of protection.  Retirement, not jail, if it comes to that.  I got once chance here.  One.  If I fuck up on the team, he’ll have no mercy.

The general’s face softens.  “Dismissed, Colonel.  And thank you.  For bringing our boy home, I thank you.”

I nod and get the hell out of there, reeling.  A few weeks ago he was hinting over me and Carter and -  Daniel's Jack.  He faked me out.  Sneaky sonovabitch.  He faked me out.  Jeez.  I fell for it.  Blushed like a schoolgirl.  Too late to try for a valuable member of my team on this one, huh?

I pick up the pace, a little, eager to get down to the Infirmary, touch base with Teal’c and just basically touch Daniel.  I bound in to find a touching reunion playing out in front of me.

Literally.

“It pleases me greatly to see you safe again, Daniel,” Teal’c says softly, his hands curved over Daniel’s shoulders.

He doesn’t DO the touching thing.  Or the Daniel thing.  Does he?  Not that I – I'm not there ALL the time – not every damn minute.  But I would have noticed if he’d taken to calling Daniel, Daniel.  Right?

I’m still trying to process when Daniel smiles that sweet little smile of his and glances up shyly.  “I missed you, Teal’c.  I was worried about you.”

Teal’c’s hands tighten.  “And I for you.”

When did this happen?  When did Teal’c get so comfortable in Daniel’s personal space?  And why?  Why is Teal’c feeling him up?  That’s what this is.  Jaffa, here.  He doesn't do the touching thing.

“How do you feel, Teal’c?  Now Cronus is dead?”

Teal’c – steps closer.  Breathes deep.  Smiles.  “An old wound may at last begin to heal, Daniel.”

Daniel’s face melts.  “I’m glad,” he says simply.

“I would be honoured to speak of it with you,” Teal’c bows formally.

“Not tonight,” I say sharply, moving in close, forcing Teal’c to free Daniel and step back.  “Daniel is coming home with me.  The general’s orders.”

“What about the debriefing, Jack?” Daniel asks stoically.

“Tomorrow, 08:00.”

Daniel sighs and touches my hand for just a moment, smiling gratefully.  I’m watching Teal’c.  Watching Teal’c watching Daniel.  He doesn’t miss the fleeting touch.  If I didn’t know my ‘brother’ so well I’d miss the tautening of his face.  Teal’c sees all right, and what he sees, he doesn’t like.

“O’Neill,” he inclines his head graciously.

“How are you feeling?  Junior work his usual magic?” I ask lightly as Janet bears down on Daniel, waving several hypodermics and her patented ‘this won’t hurt me a bit but you’d better brace yourself’ pre-shot look.  I prudently withdraw as she yanks the curtain around and Daniel hisses in pain.  I’ll kiss it all better when we get home.

“I am well.”

“Glad to hear it.  We’ll need you to keep the damn Tok’ra in line.”

“You killed Simpson.”

Not a question.  “Emptied the magazine into him and I wish I’d killed him slower for what he did to Daniel.”

“You are not alone in that desire, O’Neill,” Teal’c’s face tightens again.  “Dr Fraiser’s report was most disturbing.  Had you not returned, I would have been compelled to seek you out.”

I just bet you would have.  Breathing Daniel in, huh?  Breathe this.  I beckon him away from Daniel’s bed of pain and out into the empty corridor, a safe distance from either of the security cameras.  I wait until he turns to face me and deliberately lean against the wall, well within sniffing distance.

I want to be wrong.  I want to be wrong but I think I’m right.  I want to see his reaction when he realises that scent on Daniel’s skin is me.  I wait, and watch and see.  I see a moment of absolute stillness and then I know.

“How long?” I snap.

Teal’c coolly returns my hard, angry stare.

“I might ask the same, O’Neill.”

“It isn’t EVER going to happen.”

A tiny quirk of a sceptical eyebrow is all the answer I get.

“And you won’t EVER tell him.  Is that clear? IS IT?” I hiss.

“Your wishes are clear, O’Neill.”

“You won’t tell him for HIS sake, not mine.  It would destroy him.  He’ll tear himself apart wondering what he did to provoke it and he’ll break his heart over having to refuse.  You won’t burden him with it.  Ever.”

“I am, and will continue to be DanielJackson’s friend, O’Neill,” Teal’c says forbiddingly.

“Good.  Then we understand one another.”

“You will neither disappoint him, nor give him cause for grief, O’Neill.  Ever.  Is that clear?” Teal’c challenges softly.

“Crystal.  Can we work together?”

“We are brothers and we will neither of us fail in our duty to protect.”  Teal’c inclines his head and walks away.

Jesus.  Like I don’t have enough on my plate?  Why can’t this shit be easy?  Carter falling for me and getting over it I’ve just about got a grip on.  Teal’c?  Maybe it’s just a gut reaction, maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I highly doubt it.  Teal’c falling in love with Daniel and not being anywhere NEAR over it just frosts my cookies.

 

* * *

“You’ve never shared my bed,” Daniel says shyly.

Uh-uh.  Nice try.  Home means HOME.  Not that ‘Fragile: This Way Up’ look before you touch apartment of his.

“Um – actually – I’ve never – I mean – no one has shared my – this – bed.”

In four years.  Crap.  I think I can actually feel my spine dissolving.

“You wanna go home, huh?”  Daniel’s face just lights up and takes my breath away and I’m hanging that left before I know it.  “Home it is and don’t spare the horsepower.”

Daniel sighs happily and wriggles around just that bit more so he can watch me as I drive.  I shoot him a few sidelong glances when I can lift my attention for a moment.  Don’t deserve this.  Don’t deserve him.  Not this man, purely happy just to sit here and look at me.  If I could see myself through Daniel’s eyes, I’d see a damn fine thing.  I see myself through my own eyes and I see an ordinary guy mostly doing the best he can.  I got nothing.  Nothing that would bring Dr Daniel Jackson to me, but I have him anyway.  It’s his choice to be with me and that lifts the pressure off me.  I am what I am, and he knows, and it's okay, he wants to be with me anyway.  He wants me.  He’s not asking me to change, just to maybe meet him halfway.  I tease the shit out of him, and I gotta learn there are times when he just wants a little sympathy and understanding.  So maybe I can’t do that with eyes on us, on the job, but I can do it for him, here, in our lives, and I can prove I trust him no matter what.  The only thing he asks of me is honesty in all things.  Very simple and impossibly demanding.

I won’t tell Daniel that Teal’c is in love with him unless he sees the truth himself.  Teal’c is still who and what he is, and he’ll never betray Daniel’s trust, he’ll never make a move he knows will only bring hurt.  In that I’ll trust.  The rest we’ll have to work at.  My kids have had to face a lot of unpleasant personal truths this year, and a lot of that is my fault.  My indecision, my inadequacy, my failings.  We’re not what we were, but maybe what we’ll be can be better.

“You up to cooking me some dinner, Daniel?” I ask lightly as I pull up in front of his building.  A little homey activity might just sneak him past any sledge-hammer realisations about every godawful thing that’s just happened to him once his body finally realises it’s safe and home.  I guess I made a mistake wanting to take him to my home.  It isn’t yet ours.

“Healthy?” Daniel says provocatively, hand poised on the door handle.

“Just this once, then.  And I’ll make pie for you.”

“Sweet,” I gloat and wait for him to walk around and join me.  “This is the acid test, right here.  This is where I decide to keep you.”

“Or cut out the middle man and steal my recipe book,” Daniel says sweetly.

“That'll never happen.   I exercise my right not to cook,” I say smugly.

“Not anymore.  From now on you help, and if I cook, you wash and dry and put away.”

“Your stuff?  Are you kidding?  Regency silver and whatchamacallit?”

“Meissen porcelain?” Daniel suggests, laughing up at me through his lashes.

“Crystal glasses.  They even SOUND expensive.”

“There’s no mystique, Jack.  Just touch with respect.  That’s all.  You can do that,” he murmurs, smiling, remembering in a way that drives the blood straight down and dries my throat to dust.

When Fred the security guy says ‘hi’ all I got for him is a croak and I’ve no objections at all when Daniel decides to go for a private public display of affection and takes my hand in the elevator, or when we walk hand in hand to his apartment.  The moment we’re through I lock and bolt everything while Daniel leans against the wall, watching me, fascinated.

“I’ll be the first to admit Mrs Lewicki is a holy terror, Jack, but don’t you think you’re taking the security precautions a little far?  Even Smudge can’t pick the locks and he’s tried.”

“Smudge?”

“Aggressive, amoral, carnivorous feline,” Daniel sniffs.

“After the fishies, huh?”

“And me.”

“It’s a stroking thing, Danny,” I explain gravely.  “I could open up.  Threesome.  You on my lap.  Smudge on yours.  Stroking.   Licking.  Purring.  The cat might have fun too.”

Daniel chuckles and just lifts his face and I’m there, taking him in my arms, kissing him gently, tiny kisses, no tongue, just a warm welcome home.  Warm enough to melt.  The sigh snuffling into my neck is contented and from this end, erotic.  I cup his head and keep him close, let him drink in the peace, the safety, without overwhelming.  “Yeah.”

“I’m fantasising.”

I know that honey-slow tone.  “You got me.  I care enough to give my very best,” I say lightly.

“We start dinner, and – if you want – “

“I want,” I emphasise.

“We can take it to the shower.  I’d like – you  - you have such a beautiful mouth, Jack.”

Daniel lifts his head and silently asks.

“All the better to eat you with,” I growl, lasciviously licking my lips and going for the blatant leer, making him chuckle.  This I can do.  It’s been twenty two years since I last did, but I distinctly remember enjoying the hell outta this kinda interesting.  I'm pretty sure I can get down and make Danny boogie.

“Hungry?”

“Always,” I grin.  “For food too.”

Daniel grins and slips away, heading for the kitchen.

“Cannelloni okay, Jack?  I made the pasta myself.  It won’t take me long to defrost it, twenty minutes to bake in the oven.”

“I like Italian.  You made the pasta?” I saunter in and lean against the nearest worktop.  This begs the question, why?

Daniel shrugs. “I like to cook.  It’s relaxing.  I cook in batches when I have time, freeze everything and that way I can always have something home cooked no matter how tired or – “ Daniel looks self-conscious.

“Point me at the good stuff.  Defrosting I can do,” I say cheerfully, ignoring the comment he didn’t want to finish.  This is R & R.  “And why are you blushing?”

“The freezer.  Middle compartment.  Don’t – don’t be judgemental, okay?” Daniel says defensively.  “I’ll start the pastry for the pie.”

I shrug and wheel off towards the refrigerator, which is one of the many oddities of Daniel’s apartment, appearing to be embedded in the wall of the dining area.  Judgemental?  I swing open the door, ready to rummage.  Ah.  Judgemental.  Daniel has catalogued the carefully stacked contents of his freezer.  I extract two neatly labelled Tupperware boxes filled with cannelloni.  All the boxes match, with blue lids not a million miles away from the colour of Daniel’s eyes.  Lots of boxes.  Lots of neat labels.  Lots and lots of nutritious, home cooked meals and why the FUCK has he been losing weight?

Too depressed to eat, that’s why.  Way. To.  Go. O’Neill.  Now you're cookin'.

I hesitate and defiantly grab a third box of cannelloni.  See if I can’t coax him to eat three of these things for me.  When I stroll back around into the kitchen, Daniel has a large casserole ready for the cannelloni and a marble board and rolling pin out on the worktop.  I smile in response to his tentative look and head over to the microwave, open lids and start defrosting.

“Anything else I can do?” I ask cheerfully.

Daniel grins over his shoulder as he sifts flour into a large earthenware bowl.  “Choose some wine, peel and core the apples and soak them in brandy.  Grate the cinnamon.  Find the canned tomatoes to pour over the cannelloni, I haven’t any fresh.  Set the table.”

“Wine?”  I was hoping beer.

“Pick anything you like.”

I like beer.  “Red do you?” I pull out bottles casually.  “Mt Veeder, Napa Valley?”

“Cabernet Sauvignon,” Daniel approves.  “That’s a great wine.”

This stuff has to ‘breathe’ so I grab the corkscrew, open it and set it out on the table.  Take a cautious sniff.  Smells like raspberries.  It’s not beer, but it might be okay.  I remove the first defrosted cannelloni, slide the next box into the microwave, slip these ones into the casserole.  Daniel is rubbing.  Flour and butter.

“Did I mention my pastry perversion?”

He chuckles, shaking his head.  “Everything I do seems to trigger some kind of perversion.  Particularly my – Jack!”

“What?” I say innocently, “Just admiring your technique.”

“And my thighs!”

“I like to rub too,” I whisper against his nape, making him shiver.

“Peel,” Daniel orders, fending me off.  “If you want this pie?”

“I want.  Apples?”

“Just look around.  Find stuff,” Daniel suggests hopefully.

Just try and make yourself at home, Jack.  Gotcha.

I rifle through cupboards, find the canned goods, retrieve the tomatoes, open draws, grab the silverware and carefully set the table.  Rummage in another cupboard, find the glassware and the antique dinner service.  Jeez.  Scary stuff.  Finally spot a little wooden trolley filled with wicker baskets.  Apples.  Potatoes.  Vegetables.  Stuff that doesn’t spoil if it’s left for a few days.  I go back to the knife block and the chopping board, peel and core the apples.  I’m good with knives, at least, even if my attention is wandering to Daniel.  He’s kneading.  Mister Happy thoroughly approves, and I just like watching Daniel, enjoying the look of dreamy contentment on his face as he makes pastry and I get under his feet.  Steal kisses.  Feel him up.  Grate.  Set.  Pour.  Ask where stuff is two minutes after I put it away.  Poke my nose and push my luck.

Finally realise.

“You love this place, right?  It’s not just somewhere you live,” I say certainly.

Daniel pauses, hands on the rolling pin, smiling warmly.  “This is home, Jack.”

“The whole gratuitous stairs thing?” I hunch a shoulder, hopefully.

“Home.”

I nod.  “You’re gonna have to give me to the two-bit tour.  Point out the breakables,” I say teasingly.  Everything from the front door on is breakable in my opinion.  Even the throw on the couch is handsewn and antique.

When my last box of cannelloni has defrosted I stick it in with the rest, pour the tomatoes over, and grate on some cheese.  Daniel already has the oven hot so I just gotta cover this puppy and slide it in there.

The pie is looking like pie.  Pre-pie.  Pie in the raw.  Pie in it’s natural state.  “Topless pie?”

“Tarte au pomme,” Daniel corrects as he eases the pie into oven.  "A version, anyway."

“Topless French tart?  Peachy.”

“Vanilla bean ice cream if you want it,” Daniel offers generously.

“Home made?” I saw the containers.

“Cassie and Janet bought me the ice cream maker for my birthday a while back.  I love ice cream.”

Me too.  Think I’ll just love watching Daniel love ice cream too.  “The Vanilla Chocolate Fudge is calling to me plaintively.”  I close in, grinning.  “Now, about this shower?”

“Twenty minutes until the cannelloni is ready,” Daniel says a little uncertainly.

“Perfect.  Lead on,” I pat his ass, “and try to wiggle this a little more for me, will ya?”  I guess neither Sarah nor Sha’uri were the adventurous type in bed.  Hell, Sha’uri didn’t even know what lips were for when Daniel kissed her.  He’s in for a shock.

The bathroom is pretty normal.  It’s a tasteful pale grey and Ikea looking, but not breakable.  The shower is definitely big enough for the kind of interactivity Daniel is hoping for.  Daniel sets the shower going and undresses so quick he’s stumbling in his haste.  As befitting my age and dignity, I take my time.  I love seeing him this way, naked and comfortable; flushed and rosy with desire, eyes slowly darkening, all of that silky ivory-smooth skin trembling with the force of his arousal.  I’m totally getting off on watching him harden and swell as more and more of me is revealed.  Mister Happy is as blatantly obvious as ever and Daniel is giggling helplessly as I take his shoulders, urge him into the steamy spray and close the door on the world.

Kissing Daniel in any condition is a mind-blowing experience, but kissing a hot, wet, slippery, naked, demanding Daniel is just shattering.  Daniel’s hands are clamped to my head as we plunge into raw striving; lips, teeth, tongues, clashing and rasping and reaming.  Not gentle, not playful, not sweet.  Grunting and gasping as we lick, suck, bite, rub.  Cling.  Daniel reaching between us, stroking, teasing me to the point of pain as I arch and thrust into his tormenting hand.  Tongues find the harsh, urgent rhythm of hips and hand.  Sweet hand; stroking, squeezing, gliding, pumping.  Grip-glide.  Grip-glide.  Just so.  Just right.  Just there.  There.  God.  Just.  Right.  Just.  There.  God!  YES.  THERE!

Danny glowing, triumphant; my come pulsing over him in steady streams; soothing hand carefully milking me dry.  Loving me.  Holding me hard against him ‘til the shaking stops, I see, I speak, I slip down his body kissing, licking, tasting fevered flesh with my tongue.  Warm water cascading down over us both as I flick my tongue over his navel, Danny groaning, flattening to the tile as I take it lower.  Kiss and nip at the taut, flat plane of his belly.  Down, all the way down, on my knees before him, hands hard against his hips as I trail my tongue the length of him, glorying in every twitch and jerk, every wrenching writhe and whimper.  Sensitive fingers tangle softly in my hair as I lap at the weeping tip of his shaft, dip my tongue into salty fluid.  Forgot how good this was. Forgot the taste, texture, scent of a man.  Throbbing, velvety hardness; Daniel rich in my nose and mouth.  So alive.  So open.

I lick his shaft slowly, savouring; let my tongue taste, tease, swirl and play.  Blow gently on the tip and listen for the choked gasp.

“Ja-ack!”

Smile.  Suckle softly, just the tip in my mouth, soft as the moans from Daniel.  He’s beyond speech but not beyond gentleness, the lightest of touches only against my hair.  I tighten my lips around him and glide up the shaft carefully, comfortably.  Glide back down, gently sucking all the way.  Sure now, I swiftly swallow him to the root, shocking a scream of ecstasy out him.  Suck hard, suck until he’s straining against my restraining hands.  I ease my grip, afraid to bruise.  Trusting.

“J-Jack?”

Daniel rocks cautiously into my mouth, breathing short, heavy, harsh now.  I invite him in, sucking as he rocks slowly and gently in and out of my mouth.

“So beautiful, Jack.”

Careful hands cupping the back of my head, holding me just so as he rocks.

“Love you so much.”

I ease back and he frees me at once.  Ease back slowly, so slowly, feeding on him, on the taste, the texture, the scent of Daniel.  Settle back, breathing hard, smile up at him, what I do to him, my Daniel totally lost in the moment.  Take a deep breath and plunge back down, all the way, grasp his butt and urge him into me, harder than he dares, as hard as he wants.

“JAAACK!”

Let go.  Not gonna hurt me.  In control so you just let go.  Trust you.  Trust yourself.  Do it to me, take what you want from me.  It’s waiting right here for you.

At last he thrusts, still slow, still gentle, taking what he needs now, taking the pleasure I’m willing to give him.  Thrusting, straining, shaking under my hands, tensing.

“Jack, no, I’m – I’m – “

I feel his butt clench with the effort of holding back, having none of that; suck ferociously until he’s sobbing and can’t hold back, driving deep, screaming, exploding, wave after wave of come pouring down my throat.  I swallow with every thrust, catch it all, drink him up until there’s no more and he softens.

Release him at last, and catch him as he falls into a tangled heap of quivering arms and legs and hammering heart; a soft, insistent sob against my shoulder.

I soothe him, feeling like a million bucks.

“I love you too, Danny.”


	9. Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slash: Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Category: Action/Adventure. First Time. Hurt/Comfort. Romance.  
> Season/Spoilers: Season 4. Follows events in The Curse and Double Jeopardy.  
> Synopsis: Daniel and Jack learn - and teach - difficult lessons in honesty and faithfulness.  
> Warnings: Minor character death. Violence. Language. Intense situations.

DANIEL

Jack looks fabulous.  Bare feet, bare chest, soft blue-grey jeans not entirely buttoned up.  Wolfing down cannelloni like he hasn’t eaten for a week.  I’ve never seen Jack content.  Never.  He’s always restless, always reaching out, pushing, provoking. Here with me, Jack is at his ease.  At rest.  Chatting about anything I please.  Smiling.  Kindness itself.

This is Jack, in love.  Jack, mellow and happy.

I hug it to myself, knowing I make him feel this good.  Knowing he’ll only let me this close.

“You gonna eat that?” he asks brightly.

I shake my head and slide the casserole over to him encouragingly.  A four two split isn’t bad, and to reassure the colonel’s ongoing and damnably persistent nutritional anxiety, I plan to eat my fair share of the house special tarte au pomme and Vanilla Chocolate Fudge ice cream.

“If I’d known you cooked like this I would never have let you go back to the base when you stayed with me that first night after Abydos.”

I smile and sip a little wine.  Jack’s innocent pleasure in the wine won’t be helped by finding out it’s forty-five dollars a bottle.  I sip and watch Jack eat, watch Jack watch me.  I threw on my favourite navy sweats and left off the T-shirt at Jack’s earnest entreaty.  My feet are also bare at Jack’s request.  His feet are just as busy as his hands, stroking against mine.

It doesn’t seem to take long for sated to segue into seduction.

I rise up and am firmly waved back into my seat as gentleman Jack clears away the debris and carries away the Meissen plates like they’re live grenades with the pin pulled.  I hear the whoosh of relief when he gets them safely to the sink, and then the rich, tangy scent of baked apple fills the air.  I turn in my seat to watch him dishing out heroic portions of pie, sniffing and tasting appreciatively.  I sigh and shift myself, retrieve the ice cream and hand that over too.  Jack gives himself two towering scoops, and the same for me.  Then he looks into the tub and grins up at me.

“Seems a shame to have this tiny scrap cluttering up your freezer.”

Make that three scoops each.

“Couch?” Jack asks brightly.

As in curling up and pigging out?  Please. “I’ll get the wine, unless you want a beer?”

Jack lights up.  “You’ve got beer?”

That’s a yes, then.  “Beck’s okay?”  And that’s a yes too.

I get Jack his icy cold beer, grab my wine and follow him over to the couch.  I heartlessly ignore his hopeful eyes and his ‘hurt’ disappointment when I sit primly by his side, instead of on his lap as was clearly indicated.  I stretch out my feet and rest them on the coffee table, Jack stretching out companionably next to me as he takes a long, complacent draught of the beer and launches into the pie and ice cream.

“Fabulous,” he groans after the first mouthful.  “Guess that takes care of the breakfast menu.”

“Apple pie?”  That’s not breakfast food.

“It’s not like I’m insisting on the ice cream, y’know,” he grumbles, ploughing in again.  “I have a question.”

I savour the rich explosion of scalding, icy, rich, creamy, tart and tangy tastes against my tongue.  “Ask away.”

“Would you like to go to a concert?  There’s a Mozart Recital at the Pikes Peak Arts Centre next Saturday.  You like Mozart too, right?”  he asks anxiously.  “Then I’d like to take you out to dinner.  The Craftwood Inn, over at Manitoba Springs.”

“Voted most romantic restaurant in the Springs?” And the most expensive.  “The best restaurant around?  Are you trying to ask me out on a DATE, Colonel O’Neill?” I ask incredulously, and a little breathlessly to be honest.

Jack puts down his bowl and looks at me gravely.  “I guess we should have had this little talk sooner.  Daniel?”

A little startled, I give him my hand as he reaches for me, clasps me in a comforting manner.  A gentle thumb caresses my broken – my healed – cheekbone.  “What is it, Jack?”

“Sometimes -” Jack takes a deep breath, “ - sometimes, when a really nice boy gets mixed up with the wrong kind of man, sex CAN lead to dating.”

I deflate and scowl at him as he laughs malevolently and plunges back into his pie with a flourish.

“Prick.”

Jack beams at me, crossing his ankles in a manner I know to be provocative.  I know territorialism when I see it.

“I am offering to wear a suit AND tie for you, Daniel,” Jack says beneficently.  “And my sunglasses,” he adds complacently.

I think ice cream MIGHT cool this flush, especially if I rest the bowl directly on the source of the problem.

“I am of course flexible over the corsage.”

“Corsage?”

“Either wrist will do.”

“Well, if you insist,” I sigh, long-suffering.  “What colour is your tie?”

“My tie?”

“Just because I don’t carry flowers around in public doesn’t mean I should judge a man who does," I turn and eye him speculatively.   I dreamed once of Jack with an orchid in his hand.  It didn't have long to live, not once he'd smacked it back into the bouquet.  "You look like a daisy to me,” I say decisively.

“A DAISY?”

I glance at Jack and generously stretch the point.  “Maybe a pansy.”

As Jack strives in vain for the perfect pansy put-down I hear the faintest of plaintive mews at the door.  Jack goes absolutely still, then he’s up and off in one fluid motion, cackling, leaving my desperate hand clutching air.

“NO!”

“Threesome!” he hollers as he shoots back the bolts and yanks the door open.  I hear an angry hiss and an entirely different holler from Jack as Smudge says thanks in his own inimitable style.  I just have time to get my bowl to safety when a ballistic streak of taut grey fur leaps into my lap and gazes up at me adoringly, emitting coquettish little mews of unrequited love and desire.

I move an inch and a playful paw swipes my bare stomach.  The claws aren’t sheathed.

“Jack?  The cat is licking me,” I grind out around clenched teeth.

Jack limps painfully into view and freezes.  “That’s a CAT?  Smudge?  It looks like Mike Tyson with fur,” he hoots incredulously.  “Want me to shoot it?”

“Please.”

“I don’t have a gun.”

“Help.  Me.”

“No way.  That thing is WAY ahead on points.”

“Pussy,” I snarl.

“Stroke it.”

“YOU stroke it!”

Jack brightens visibly.  “It likes your fishies, right?”

“What?”

“Yo!  Smudge!  This way.  All you can eat seafood buffet.”

“Jack!  There are CLAWS kneading my – OW – if you want to kiss it better, you better goddamn hurry or you better just kiss it goodbye!  Get Mrs Lewicki!  NOW.”

The penny drops and Jack shows an impressive turn of speed.

I try to breathe shallowly as Smudge settles down to some serious licking and nuzzling.  Smudge is purring.  The Unas of the cat world is - technically - feeling me up  - with CLAWS - and purring.  My sex life is over if I sneeze.  Over.  I cannot sneeze.  I must not sneeze.

I'm going to sneeze.

My big, tough, macho, hard-ass, kick-ass, dumb-ass Black Ops Colonel sidles apologetically in behind Mrs Lewicki and keeps a safe distance.    Mrs Lewicki, seventy years old, just under five feet tall, weighing in a few pounds lighter than Smudge if looks are anything to go by, Queen of Crochet, totters over and laughs her ass off.

“Shame on you boys!  Grown men scared of my sweet baby.  Come on, precious,” she croons, and when Smudge blatantly fails to hear her, she just reaches over and plucks him off.  Both Jack and I cringe convulsively.  Mrs Lewicki eyes us both contemptuously and swaggers out with her sweet baby draped over her shoulder.  He gazes at me longingly every step of the way out.

Jack intones an excruciatingly bad faux-Terminator ’I’ll be back’ as he eyes Smudge in disbelief and limps off after Mrs Lewicki, re-locks the door and re-shoots all the bolts.  He limps back.  Sits down a respectful distance from me.  Quietly picks up his bowl.  Eats.

“I was feeling very warm and romantic,” I sigh.

“Yeah?” Jack stretches out, reading that as permission to spread out and make himself at home again.  “Any chance I can kiss it better?” He looks at me.  “No.  Not a cat in hell’s chance.”

“The answer is yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’d like to go to the concert.  Yes, I’d like you to take me out to dinner.”

“Sweet,” Jack smiles.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, Danny?”

“I’m making you wear that corsage.” 

* * *

Jack’s arms tighten around me.  “Nightmare?”

I try to calm my tremors, slow my breathing some.  No.  Just Sunday morning and my usual Jack induced five alarm wake-up call.   I take his hand and slip it down inside my sweats, flinching a little when his rough palm slides confidently down to curl around my throbbing erection.

Jack nuzzles into the nape of my neck, kissing a path around to the spot behind my ear he’s learning to know.  I feel his teeth tug at the lobe.

“What can I do for you, Danny?”

“Make love to me.”  I have the same dream every Sunday morning.  Wake raging and frustrated every Sunday morning I spend alone in this bed, never knowing what it will feel like to have Jack inside me.  “I’m not alone, not this Sunday morning, and I want to know, Jack.  I want you.”

“You don’t think we’re moving too fast?  A little over a week ago you were barely ready for kissing.”

I turn abruptly to face him, Jack’s talented hand riding the shift in position and staying emphatically put.  He smiles at me and lets a single finger do his talking in maddening flicker, swirl and glide.

“Jack, I was scared.  Scared to death.  I’d wanted you for so long, I couldn’t accept you really felt the same way.  You were telling me and I just wasn’t hearing you.  Now I know how much you love me, because you’ve shown me the truth of that every way you can.  You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Jack’s serious face melts.  “Still gloating like a goddamn bastard every time I look at you.”

“So?  Let’s make love,” I ask gravely.  “I’m not begging,” I say tartly when he doesn’t rush to make an answer.

“Gimme an hour or so,” Jack murmurs dulcetly as he tugs my sweats free.  “I want to see you.”

“Candles are just there, in the bureau.”  Along with the other thing we’ll need, bought on one of my blackest days of all, months ago, after the public humiliation played out on Endora, when I was ready to call him over and just END that frustration, the tension tearing us apart.  I raise myself on my elbows and watch admiringly as he lopes down the steps with fluid animal grace, finding and lighting the candles with swift, economic movements, each bringing him closer again to my side.

Jack lights the last candle, makes it safe and strolls back up the steps to sit cross-legged on the bed next to me, slipping the lubricant under the pillow.  His eyes seem huge in the soft glow of the candles as he reaches for my hand and lifts it between both of his, holding it up to the light.  Turning it this way and that.  Separating the fingers and running his curiously over them.  Turning our hands palm to palm and comparing the two.  “You have beautiful hands, Daniel,” he says at last, sincerity bringing a blush to my cheeks.  “Pianists hands, or surgeons hands.”  He smiles.  “Archaeologists hands.  Your hands were the only part of you that wasn't hurt.  I remember thinking that," he sighs.

"It's over now, Jack.  Can't we let it go?"

"Can we?" he asks intently.

"I'm still remembering," I admit awkwardly.  "But I'm trying to be fair, as you asked.  To me and to them.  I still see their faces, but the memories are losing the power to wound.  It hurts, still, but I don't want to forget now.  I want to learn what I can from them and go on.  If I forget, I hurt myself and I lessen what they did.  You were right, all of you.  You saw the truth, Jack, and you taught me a lesson about loyalty and faithfulness I'll never forget.  You trusted me.  I'll never ask or want more."  I smile up at him, tentatively asking for understanding.  Finding it.

"At the risk of sounding sappy, I'd like to hope that stuff goes without saying," Jack grins suddenly.  "I only tell you I love you as often as I do 'cause you invariably put out."

He laughs when I scowl at him, raises my hand to his lips and kisses the palm lingeringly, gliding down to let his tongue flick against the pulse point, then up, all the way up to the tip of my index finger.  He swirls his tongue almost studiously around the fingertip, then slides the whole length of it into his mouth, teeth skimming lightly as his tongue curls sweetly around.

My breath catches and holds as Jack suckles tenderly, letting me withdraw almost all the way and then following, drawing me back, all the way back into that moist welcoming heat.

An hour? I won’t be begging.  I’ll be dead.

Smirking, he frees my trembling hand at last and swipes away the sheet, parting my thighs and kneeling between them.  He gazes down at me and fits his hands to my hips, rests there.  Just quietly absorbing every minute gradation in bone, muscle and skin.

Skin which is burning beneath the heat of his hands as he glides them slowly up my sides, fingers spreading to map every possible inch of me until he reaches my arms, slips down to my wrists and begins the slow, firm glide up to my shoulders and those confident, capable hands settle at my throat, my pulse beating wildly against his skin, his thumbs gentle as I swallow convulsively, mouth too dry for speech.

His fingers lovingly learn every contour of my face, returning again and again to my eyes, the arch of my jaw, my lips.  Gentle pressure encourages me to lick a probing finger; thrilling to his gasp of pleasure I eagerly close my hands around his and suck his finger in, the calluses catching against my tongue.  A moment he lets me have him, then he carefully pulls away.

Something private about this silence, this shared absence of words, as if we don’t need to hear the words to know the truth.  The truth is there in Jack’s thumbs lazily caressing my nipples, shooting pleasure shocks straight to my groin, in Jack’s warm smile and in my moans, in my hips, needing, arching helplessly off the bed.  In the tremors we share as Jack massages my stomach, the heels of his hands working deep into my groin muscle, just where I wanted him to be.

My arousal is almost unbearable in intensity as pleasure ghosts through me before he even touches me there.  Jack, maddening, contrary, skimming instead down and over the thighs he covets so dearly.

“Turn around,” he asks, and of course I do, sitting spooned up in front of him, his legs around me as he sets his hands roaming, exploring every knot in my spine as he presses kisses into my nape, my shoulders, the sensitive hollows of my throat.

“Kiss me,” I groan and his hands help me kneel and turn and sit on his lap, urge my legs to hook around his back.  I take his face and pull him towards me.  “Taim i’ngra leat.”

Jack quirks a grin.  “I know that one.  I love you too.”

He falls onto my mouth like a starving man onto a feast, ravenous, raging, thrusting his tongue hard and deep as his arms tighten forcefully around me.  I feel the urgency of his desire, the adamant heat and hardness straining against me but still he won’t be rushed.  Kissing now.  He’s single minded, relentless intensity.  Force majeure.  Irresistible force and immovable object.  If he didn’t love me, I’d be afraid of this unbridled, extravagant passion, focused in my mouth.  Pushing, pulsing, pounding against me until I sob for breath and still I pull him closer, groaning, fighting him as he gentles the kiss to a tender glissade, to feather-light swipes against tongue and teeth and palette.

He grins and breathes hard, resting, then his weight takes me down to the bed, pins me flat as I wrap myself around him and thrust up to meet his teasing, rocking hips, hissing as he strokes against my erection and plunges once more into my mouth, teasing my tongue until I thrust up into his mouth and drive him out of his mind darting in to count coup against his tongue and retreat before he can catch me, laughing into his outraged eyes as we tangle and play.

Jack slips away from me, reaching out blindly for the lubricant and spooning up now behind me.  I lift a little and he slips an arm beneath me, coming to rest where we started this, curled around my erection, the other hand curving over my buttock.

“Mmm,” I sigh, rocking forward into his waiting, beginning-to-know hand.

“Mmm,” he agrees, snorting into my shoulder.

“How’d you like it back there?” I ask innocently.

“This is a temporary aberration.  If it hadn’t looked like I was spending the night mewing piteously on your doorstep with Smudge for company, you’d be over here and I’d be over there.”

“You’re shameless, you know,” I say critically.

“I know,” Jack sighs.  “You’ve no idea.  Gonna feel me inside you soon, Danny.  Remember, you don’t ever just ride it out.  No is always an option.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Jack lifts my leg a little and I take a deep, shaky breath as a cool, slick finger probes deftly and eases in.

“Relax, Danny.  Let go, now.”

I let out this breath with a pained, fraught whoosh, Jack murmuring wordless comfort as my body fights against him; encouraged only by my moans he presses in and suddenly I relax and give way to him, gasping as he fills me.

“Hurting?”

“No,” I say, surprised.  Not hurting, exactly, but terribly full and real and Jack and making me shiver and tense all over.

“Easy.”  Jack strokes inside me in perfect time to the stroke of his hand against me and slowly I relax into him, allow him to rock me from pleasure to pressure, from pressure to pleasure, from pleasure to pleasure.

“O-oh.  N-nice.”

“Yeah.  Going to get a little nicer now.”

Pressure I push down to meet and take in, still curious, still processing.  Still pressure as Jack begins that slow, stroking dance and I rock cautiously against that fullness, press back against it, thrust into it as Jack’s fingers rock and thrust to meet me in turn.

“More?” Jack asks softly.  “Let’s try for very nice indeed.”

I press hard against him and whimper when he withdraws from me.  Feel that slick coolness invade me again, stroked gently in, then the pressure of three seeking fingers, sure of their welcome, pushing through and rocking in and oh, it feels SO – “JACK!”

“No need to yell, I’m right here.”

Jack sounds like he’s laughing.

“Again!”  Pleasure striking like lightning right through to the heart of me.

“What?  Where?  This old thing?”

“JA-ACK!” I scream, arching, spasming, clenching around those maddening, mastering, manipulating - “Jack, I’m alliterating which means we really need to be – “

“Another word ending with ‘ing’.  Gotcha,” Jack says promptly.  “On your knees, please, Daniel.”

I do as he asks, kneeling, bracing myself.  Knees?  That’s not – not romantic.  Mechanical.  Good for Jack but – “Jack?  Must we – this way?”

“Hey, trust me on this, okay?  Easier for you first time, kid, and we start this way until you’re comfortable.  When it starts to feel good for YOU, we go for the advanced position, okay?”

He punctuates this with distracting nips at my butt so I trust, I go with the flow, go with Jack’s hand curving over my hip and holding me steady as the other guides – “Oh.  OH.  Oh God.  Jack.  Oh God.”  Jack.  Jack unhurriedly pushing into me.  Jack.  “Oh God.  O-oh!” Jack f-filling me, slowly rocking and straining, pushing deeper and deeper, grunting, groaning.  “Oh, God, oh, Jack.”

“Oh YEAH!” Jack howls as he gives me all of him.  Gives himself up to me.  “Dear GOD, you are the most beautiful thing I have EVER seen and touched and known and loved – love you.  Love YOU. Danny!”

Filling me up, opening me wide; hot, heavy, hard, painfully hard, iron hard, stabbing to my heart hard.  Tears burning my eyes, Jack burning me, filling me.  Oh God.  Oh.  Words of love soothing away the pain of the act of love, Jack shaking violently as he waits for me, holds for me.  Madness to move against that potent hurting hardness but I do, painfully slow and cautious, Jack moaning and holding for me still, soft words and softer lips soothing.  I ease forward and move slowly back again.

“Too.  Much.  Danny.  Jesus, Danny!  Too damn much.  Always.”

And still Jack holds for me as I rock gently back and forth on him, Jack hurting in turn, hurting in holding for me.  A little pleasure now, a little, a small sullen ripple deep inside.

“Too hot.  Too tight.  Too silky.  Too open.  Too YOU,”  Jack exalts me.

Taking note of my careful, deep, measured breaths, Jack urges me forward gradually until his weight once again pins me to the bed, the soft sheet harsh against my sensitised flesh.   I undulate against him, gloating as he moans against my nape and rocks into me tenderly at last, raining kisses everywhere he can reach, my name and my skin on his lips.  I feel every muscle of his abdomen flex against my back as he loves me so perfectly deep and slow.   I turn my head to face him and it’s a strain to kiss this way and I want to kiss him so badly.

“Jack.”

“I got ya,” he smiles against my shoulder and leans around to kiss me senseless, knowing nothing but Jack in me, loving me from the inside, from deep inside.  Jack reaching for my clenched hands, entwining our fingers.  Thrusting into me sure and certain, deep and slow.  I feel Jack, feel his weight, so real and dear to me, feel and hear and know the pleasure he’s taking in me; the harsh, guttural moans, his sweat sleek skin slipping slowly over and over mine, powerful thighs braced between mine, supple hips rocking and thrusting him into me.  Jack loving me, sure and deep and slow, so perfectly deep and slow.

"Love you, Danny, love you.  God, oh, God.  Danny," he groans into my shivering skin.

I arch luxuriously back against him, arching again and again and again into those deep, slow thrusts, loving the ripples of pleasure gathering force; straining back, striving for more.  Jack sure of me, angling now, seeking, brushing over a spot deep inside that has me howling, ecstasy sheering through me.  Jack easing back and striking the sweet sullen spot again, reaching beneath me as I twitch and quiver in reaction.  Jack stroking me patiently, in time to the quickening thrusts, my cries and the strikes deep inside; stronger, deeper, harder, MORE.

My Jack.

“Oh God, oh Jack, there.  Please, there.”

He’s driving into me, still smooth, still sure, but strong and straining now, surging desperately for completion as I writhe and strain in turn into his skilful, stroking hand, beyond words, beyond everything but Jack and THIS; hot, heavy, potent pleasure, rich and real, roaring through me now.

“DANNY!  Oh, Danny, O-OH GOD, DANNY!”

Jack tenses and drives – lunges - so deep into me I scream as he pounds into that sweet sullen spot and comes just there, coming inside me, filling me, the heat of him filling me, scorching into me just there, just there, too much, my Jack, he’s too much, I’m crying out, hoarse with joy, coming and coming into his waiting hand, falling and falling so hard and so far and so fast, falling  -

 

* * *

“Hey?”

“Hey,” I sigh, snuggling closer, Jack’s heartbeat steady beneath my cheek.

“So?”

“So.”  I smile against his chest.  “I’m not going to tell you, so just let it go.”

“Did you?”

“I was just resting my eyes.”

“No way.  You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You fainted.  It was so good you fainted.”

“I fell asleep.”

“You were screaming.”

“Scary Satanic stalking cat dream.”

“You fainted,” Jack says with sweet finality.  “Makes me feel a whole lot better about the fact you made me come so hard I saw stars just by kissing me.”

I prop my chin on my hands on my Jack.  “Really?” I ask shyly.

“Really.”

“I was definitely a little woozy,” I admit generously.

“You fainted.”

“Just kissing?”

“I love you.”

I slip back down and listen to Jack’s heartbeat.

Jack clears his throat meaningfully.

“I’d love you more if you’d sleep on your side of the bed.”

“This IS my side of the bed.”

“This is my side of my bed.”

“Our bed,” Jack says in a hurt little colonel voice.

I stretch up and kiss his chin apologetically.  I just won't make it to his lips.  All of my bones appear to have dissolved.

“Our bed,” I agree placidly.

“Damn straight!”

Jack’s arms tighten around me, cheek nuzzling into my hair.  The unstoppable sex machine is just one big gooey hug right now.

“I do love you, Jack,” I say softly.

“Ditto.”

“That’s a proven fact, but do you love me?”

“Go to sleep, Danny,” he smiles into my hair.

“Yeah.  Sure.  You betcha.  After all, this IS my side of the – JACK!”

FINIS


End file.
